The 
French  Classical  Romances 

Complete  in  Twenty  Crown  Octavo  Volumes 
Editor-in-Chief 

EDMUND    GOSSE,  LL.D. 

With  Critical  Introductions  and  Interpretative  Essays  by 

HENRY    JAMES  PROF.    RICHARD    BURTON  HENRY    HARLAND 

ANDREW    LANG  PROF.    F.     C.     DE     SUMICHRAST 

THE    EARL    OF    CREWE  HIS    EXCELLENCY    M.     CAMBON 

PROF.    WM.    P.    TRENT  ARTHUR    SYMONS  MAURICE    HEWLETT 

DR.    JAMES    FITZMAURICE-KELLY  RICHARD    MANSFIELD 

BOOTH    TARKINGTON  DR.    RICHARD    GARNETT 

PROF.   WILLIAM    M.   SLOANF  JOHN    OLIVER    HOBBES 


The   Two 
Young  Brides 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    FRENCH 
BY    THE    LADY    MARY    LOYD 

WITH    A    CRITICAL    INTRODUCTION 
BY    HENRY    JAMES 

A     FRONTISPIECE      AND     NUMEROUS 

OTHER        PORTRAITS        WITH 

DESCRIPTIVE  NOTES  BY 

OCTAVE     UZANNE 


P.  F.  COLLIER   <Sr-   SON 
NEW    YORK 


COPYRIGHT,    1901 
BY    D.     APPUTON    k    COMPANY 


HONORfi   DE   BALZAC 


i 

STRONGER  than  ever,  even  than  under  the  spell  of 
first  acquaintance  and  of  the  early  time,  is  the  sense — 
thanks  to  a  renewal  of  intimacy  and,  I  am  tempted 
to  say,  of  loyalty — that  Balzac  stands  signally  alone, 
that  he  is  the  first  and  foremost  member  of  his  craft, 
and  that,  above  all,  the  Balzac-lover  is  in  no  position 
till  he  has  cleared  the  ground  by  saying  so.  The  Bal- 
zac-lover only,  fpr  that  matter,  is  worthy  to  have  his 
word,  on  so  happy  an  occasion  as  this,  about  the  au- 
thor of  La  Comedie  Humaine,  and  it  is  indeed  not  easy 
to  see  how  the  amount  of  attention  so  inevitably  in- 
duced could,  at  the  worst,  have  failed  to  find  itself 
turning  to  an  act  of  homage.  I  have  been  deeply 
affected,  to  be  frank,  by  the  mere  refreshment  of  mem- 
ory, which  has  brought  in  its  train,  moreover,  con- 
sequences critical  and  sentimental  too  numerous  to 
figure  here  in  their  completeness.  The  authors  and 
the  books  that  have,  as  the  phrase  is,  done  something 
for  us,  formed  a  solid  part  of  the  answer  to  our  cu- 
riosity when  our  curiosity  had  the  freshness  of  youth, 
these  particular  agents  exist  for  us,  with  the  lapse  of 

7  Vol.  2 

863408 


Honore  de  Balzac 

time,  as  the  substance  itself  of  knowledge:  they  have 
been  intellectually  so  swallowed,  digested,  and  assimi- 
lated that  we  take  their  general  use  and  suggestion  for 
granted,  cease  to  be  aware  of  them  because  they  have 
passed  out  of  sight.  But  they  have  passed  out  of 
sight  simply  by  having  passed  into  our  lives.  They 
have  become  a  part  of  our  personal  history,  a  part  of 
ourselves,  very  often,  so  far  as  we  may  have  succeeded 
in  best  expressing  ourselves.  Endless,  however,  are 
the  uses  of  great  persons  and  great  things,  and  it  may 
easily  happen  in  these  cases  that  the  connection,  even 
as  an  "  excitement  " — the  form  mainly  of  the  connec- 
tions of  youth — is  never  really  broken.  We  have 
largely  been  living  on  our  benefactor — which  is  the 
highest  acknowledgment  one  can  make;  only,  thanks 
to  a  blessed  law  that  operates  in  the  long  run  to  re- 
kindle excitement,  we  are  accessible  to  the  sense  of 
having  neglected  him.  Even  when  we  may  not  con- 
stantly have  read  him  over  the  neglect  is  quite  an  illu- 
sion, but  the  illusion  perhaps  prepares  us  for  the 
finest  emotion  we  are  to  have  owed  to  the  acquaint- 
ance. Without  having  abandoned  or  denied  our  au- 
thor, we  yet  come  expressly  back  to  him,  and  if  not 
quite  in  tatters  and  in  penitence  like  the  Prodigal 
Son,  with  something  at  all  events  of  the  tenderness 
with  which  we  revert  to  the  parental  threshold  and 
hearthstone,  if  not,  more  fortunately,  to  the  parental 
presence.  The  beauty  of  this  adventure,  that  of  see- 
ing the  dust  blown  off  a  relation  that  had  been  put 
away  as  on  a  shelf,  almost  out  of  reach,  at  the  back 

vi 


Honore  de  Balzac 

of  one's  mind,  consists  in  finding  the  precious  object 
not  only  fresh  and  intact,  but  with  its  firm  lacquer 
still  further  figured,  gilded,  and  enriched.  It  is  all 
overscored  with  traces  and  impressions — vivid,  defi- 
nite, almost  as  valuable  as  itself — of  the  recognitions 
and  agitations  it  originally  produced  in  us.  Our  old 
^that  is  our  young — feelings  are,  very  nearly,  what 
page  after  page  most  gives  us.  The  case  has  become 
a  case  of  authority  plus  association.  If  Balzac  in  him- 
self is  indubitably  wanting  in  the  sufficiently  common 
felicity  we  know  as  charm,  it  is  this  association  that 
may  on  occasion  contribute  the  glamour. 

The  impression  then,  confirmed  and  brightened, 
is  of  the  mass  and  weight  of  the  figure,  and  of  the 
extent  of  ground  it  occupies;  a  tract  on  which  we 
really  might  all  of  us  together  pitch  our  little  tents, 
open  our  little  booths,  deal  in  our  little  wares,  and 
not  materially  either  diminish  the  area  or  impede  the 
circulation  of  the  occupant.  I  seem  to  see  him  in 
such  an  image  moving  about  as  Gulliver  among  the 
pigmies,  and  not  less  good-natured  than  Gulliver  for 
the  exercise  of  any  function,  without  exception,  that 
can  illustrate  his  larger  life.  The  first  and  the  last 
word  about  the  author  of  Les  Conies  Drolatiques  is  that 
of  all  novelists  he  is  the  most  serious — by  which  I  am 
far  from  meaning  that  in  the  human  comedy  as  he 
shows  it  the  comic  is  an  absent  quantity.  His  sense 
of  the  comic  was  on  the  scale  of  his  extraordinary 
senses  in  general,  though  his  expression  of  it  suffers 
perhaps  exceptionally  from  that  odd  want  of  elbow- 

vii 


Honore  de  Balzac 

room — the  penalty  somehow  of  his  close-packed, 
pressed-down  contents — which  reminds  us  of  some 
designedly  beautiful  thing  but  half-disengaged  from 
the  clay  or  the  marble.  It  is  the  scheme  and  the 
scope  that  are  supreme  in  him,  applying  it,  moreover, 
not  to  mere  great  intention,  but  to  the  concrete  form, 
the  proved  case,  in  which  we  possess  them.  We  most 
of  us  aspire  to  achieve  at  the  best  but  a  patch  here 
and  there,  to  pluck  a  sprig  or  a  single  branch,  to 
break  ground  in  a  corner  of  the  great  garden  of  life. 
Balzac's  plan  was  simply  to  do  all,  to  give  the  whole 
thing.  He  proposed  to  himself  to  turn  over  the  great 
garden  from  north  to  south  and  from  east  to  west;  a 
task — immense,  heroic,  to  this  day  immeasurable — 
that  he  bequeathed  us  the  partial  performance  of,  a 
huge  imperfect  block,  in  the  twenty  monstrous  years, 
years  of  concentration  and  sacrifice  the  vision  of 
which  still  makes  us  ache,  representing  his  productive 
career.  He  had  indeed  a  striking  good  fortune, 
the  only  one  he  was  to  enjoy  as  an  harassed  and  ex- 
asperated worker:  the  great  garden  of  life  presented 
itself  to  him  absolutely  and  exactly  in  the  guise  of  the 
great  garden  of  France,  a  subject  vast  and  compre- 
hensive enough,  yet  with  definite  edges  and  corners. 
This  identity  of  his  universal  with,  so  to  speak,  his 
local,  national  vision  is  the  particular  thing  we  should 
doubtless  call  his  greatest  strength  were  we  preparing 
agreeably  to  speak  of  it  also  as  his  visible  weakness. 
Of  Balzac's  weaknesses,  however,  it  takes  some  as- 
surance to  talk;  there  is  always  plenty  of  time  for 

viii 


Honore  de  Balzac 

them;  they  are  the  last  signs  we  know  him  by;  such 
things,  truly,  as  in  other  painters  of  manners  often 
pass  for  the  exuberances  of  power.  So  little  in  short 
do  they  earn  that  name  even  when  we  feel  them  as 
defects. 

What  he  did  above  all  was  to  read  the  universe, 
as  hard  and  as  loud  as  he  could,  into  the  France  of  his 
time;  his  own  eyes  regarding  his  work  as  at  once  the 
drama  of  man  and  a  mirror  of  the  mass  of  social  phe- 
nomena, the  social  state,  the  most  rounded  and  regis- 
tered, most  organized  and  administered,  and  thereby 
most  exposed  to  systematic  observation  and  por- 
trayal, that  the  world  had  seen.  There  are  happily 
other  interesting  societies,  but  these  are,  for  schemes 
of  such  an  order,  comparatively  loose  and  incoherent, 
with  more  extent  and  perhaps  more  variety,  but  with 
less  of  the  great  inclosed  and  exhibited  quality,  less 
neatness  and  sharpness  of  arrangement,  fewer  cate- 
gories, subdivisions,  juxtapositions.  Balzac's  France 
was  both  inspiring  enough  for  an  immense  prose  epic 
and  reducible  enough  for  a  report  or  a  table.  To 
allow  his  achievement  all  its  dignity  we  should  doubt- 
less say  also  treatable  enough  for  a  history,  since  it 
was  as  a  patient  historian,  a  Benedictine  of  the  actual, 
the  living  painter  of  his  living  time,  that  he  regarded 
himself  and  handled  his  material.  All  painters  of  man- 
ners and  fashions,  if  we  will,  are  historians,  even  when 
they  least  put  on  the  uniform:  Fielding,  Dickens, 
Thackeray,  George  Eliot,  Hawthorne,  among  our- 
selves. But  the  great  difference  between  the  great 

ix 


Honore  de  Balzac, 

Frenchman  and  the  eminent  others  is  that,  with  an 
imagination  of  the  highest  power,  an  unequalled  in- 
tensity of  vision,  he  saw  his  subject  in  the  light  of 
science  as  well,  in  the  light  of  the  bearing  of  all  its 
parts  on  each  other,  and  under  pressure  of  a  passion 
for  exactitude,  an  appetite,  the  appetite  of  an  ogre, 
for  all  the  kinds  of  facts.  We  find,  I  think,  in  the 
combination  here  suggested  something  like  the  truth 
about  his  genius,  the  nearest  approach  to  a  final  ac- 
count of  him.  Of  imagination,  on  one  side,  all  com- 
pact, he  was  on  the  other  an  insatiable  reporter  of  the 
immediate,  the  material,  the  current  combination,  per- 
petually moved  by  the  historian's  impulse  to  fix  them, 
preserve  them,  explain  them.  One  asks  one's  self  as 
one  reads  him  what  concern  the  poet  has  with  so 
much  arithmetic  and  so  much  criticism,  so  many  sta- 
tistics and  documents,  what  concern  the  critic  and  the 
economist  have  with  so  many  passions,  characters, 
and  adventures.  The  contradiction  is  always  before 
us;  it  springs  from  the  inordinate  scale  of  the  author's 
two  faces;  it  explains  more  than  anything  else  his 
eccentricities  and  difficulties.  It  accounts  for  his 
want  of  grace,  his  want  of  the  lightness  associated 
with  an  amusing  literary  form,  his  bristling  surface, 
his  closeness  of  texture,  so  suggestive,  yet  at  the 
same  time  so  akin  to  the  crowded  air  we  have  in  mind 
when  we  speak  of  not  being  able  to  see  the  wood  for 
the  trees. 

A  thorough-paced  votary,  for  that  matter,  can 
easily  afford  to  declare  at  once  that  this  confounding 

x 


duality  of  character  does  more  things  still,  or  does  at 
least  the  most  important  of  all — introduces  us  with- 
out mercy  (mercy  for  ourselves,  I  mean)  to  the  oddest 
truth  we  could  have  dreamed  of  meeting  in  such  a 
connection.  It  was  certainly  a  priori  not  to  be  ex- 
pected we  should  feel  it  of  him,  but  our  hero  is,  after 
all,  not,  in  his  magnificence,  totally  an  artist:  which 
would  be  the  strangest  thing  possible,  one  must  hasten 
to  add,  were  not  the  smallness  of  the  practical  differ- 
ence so  made  even  stranger.  His  endowment  and 
his  effect  are  each  so  great  that  the  anomaly  makes 
at  the  most  a  difference  only  by  adding  to  his  interest 
for  the  critic.  The  critic  worth  his  salt  is  indiscreetly 
curious  and  wants  ever  to  know  how  and  why— 
whereby  Balzac  is  thus  a  still  rarer  case  for  him,  sug- 
gesting that  curiosity  may  have  exceptional  rewards. 
The  question  of  what  makes  the  artist,  on  a  great 
scale,  is  interesting  enough;  but  we  feel  it  in  Balzac's 
company  to  be  nothing-  to  the  question  of  what,  on  an 
equal  scale,  frustrates  him.  The  scattered  pieces,  the 
disjecta  membra,  of  the  character  are  here  so  numerous 
and  so  splendid  that  they  prove  misleading;  we  pile 
them  together,  and  the  heap,  assuredly,  is  monumen- 
tal; it  forma  an  overtopping  figure.  The  genius  this 
figure  stands  for,  none  the  less,  is  really  such  a  lesson 
to  the  artist  as  perfection  itself  would  be  powerless  to 
give;  it  carries  him  so  much  further  into  the  special 
mystery.  Where  it  carries  him,  however,  I  must  not 
in  this  scant  space  attempt  to  say — which  would  be  3 
toss  of  the  fine  thread  of  my  argument.  I  stick  to 

B 


Honore  de  Balzac 

our  point  in  putting  it,  more  concisely,  that  the  artist 
of  the  Comedie  Humaine  is  half  smothered  by  the  his- 
torian. Yet  it  belongs  as  well  to  the  matter  also  to 
meet  the  question  of  whether  the  historian  himself 
may  not  be  an  artist,  in  which  case  Balzac's  catas- 
trophe would  seem  to  lose  its  excuse.  The  answer 
of  course  is  that  the  reporter,  however  philosophic, 
has  one  law,  and  the  creator,  however  substantially 
fed,  has  another;  so  that  the  two  laws  can  with  no 
sort  of  harmony  or  congruity  make,  for  the  finer  sense, 
a  common  household.  Balzac's  catastrophe — so  to 
name  it  once  again — was  in  this  perpetual  conflict  and 
final  impossibility,  an  impossibility  that  explains  his 
defeat  on  the  classic  side  and  extends  so  far  at  times 
as  to  make  us  think  of  his  work  as,  from  the  point  of 
view  of  beauty,  a  tragic  waste  of  effort. 

What  it  would  come  to,  we  judge,  is  that  the  ir- 
reconcilability of  the  two  kinds  of  law  is,  more  simply 
expressed,  but  the  irreconcilability  of  two  different 
ways  of  composing  one's  work.  The  principle  of  com- 
position that  his  free  imagination  would  have,  or  cer- 
tainly might  have,  handsomely  imposed  on  him  is 
perpetually  dislocated  by  the  quite  opposite  principle 
of  the  earnest  seeker,  the  inquirer  to  a  useful  end,  in 
whom  nothing  is  free  but  a  born  antipathy  to  his 
yoke-fellow.  Such  a  production  as  Le  Cure  de  Village, 
the  wonderful  story  of  Mme.  Graslin,  so  nearly  a 
masterpiece,  yet  so  ultimately  not  one,  would  be,  in 
this  connection,  could  I  take  due  space  for  it,  a  perfect 
illustration.  If,  as  I  say,  Mme.  Graslin's  creator  was 

xii 


Honore  de  Balzac 

confined  by  his  doom  to  patches  and  pieces,  no  piece 
is  finer  than  the  first  half  of  the  book  in  question,  the 
half  in  which  the  picture  is  determined  by  his  un- 
equalled power  of  putting  people  on  their  feet,  plant- 
ing them  before  us  in  their  habit  as  they  lived — a 
faculty  nourished  by  observation  as  much  as  one  will, 
but  with  the  inner  vision  all  the  while  wide-awake,  the 
vision  for  which  ideas  are  as  living  as  facts  and  assume 
an  equal  intensity.  This  intensity,  greatest  indeed  in 
the  facts,  has  in  Balzac  a  force  all  its  own,  to  which 
none  other  in  any  novelist  I  know  can  be  likened. 
His  touch  communicates  on  the  spot  to  the  object, 
the  creature  evoked,  the  hardness  and  permanence 
that  certain  substances,  some  sorts  of  stone,  acquire  by 
exposure  to  the  air.  The  hardening  medium,  for  the 
image  soaked  in  it,  is  the  air  of  his  mind.  It  would 
take  but  little  more  to  make  the  peopled  world  of  fic- 
tion as  we  know  it  elsewhere  affect  us  by  contrast  as  a 
world  of  rather  gray  pulp.  This  mixture  of  the  solid 
and  the  vivid  is  Balzac  at  his  best,  and  it  prevails  with- 
out a  break,  without  a  note  not  admirably  true,  in 
Le  Cure  de  Village — since  I  have  named  that  instance 
— up  to  the  point  at  which  Mme.  Graslin  moves  out 
from  Limoges  to  Montegnac  in  her  ardent  passion  of 
penitence,  her  determination  to  expiate  her  strange 
and  undiscovered  association  with  a  dark  misdeed  by 
living  and  working  for  others.  Her  drama  is  a  par- 
ticularly inward  one,  interesting,  and  in  the  highest 
degree,  so  long  as  she  herself,  her  nature,  her  be- 
haviour, her  personal  history,  and  the  relations  in 

xiii 


Honor£  de  Balzac 

which  they  place  her,  control  the  picture  and  feed 
our  illusion.  The  firmness  with  which  the  author 
makes  them  play  this  part,  the  whole  constitution  of 
the  scene  and  of  its  developments  from  the  moment 
we  cross  the  threshold  of  her  dusky,  stuffy  old-time 
birth-house,  is  a  rare  delight,  producing  in  the  reader 
that  sense  of  local  and  material  immersion  which  is 
one  of  Balzac's  supreme  secrets.  What  characteris- 
tically befalls,  however,  is  that  the  spell  accompanies 
us  but  part  of  the  way— only  until,  at  a  given  moment, 
his  attention  ruthlessly  transfers  itself  from  inside  to 
outside,  from  the  centre  of  his  subject  to  its  circum- 
ference. 

This  is  Balzac  caught  in  the  very  fact  of  his  mon- 
strous duality,  caught  in  his  most  complete  self-ex- 
pression. He  is  clearly  quite  unwitting  that  in 
handing  over  his  data  to  his  twin-brother  the  impas- 
sioned economist  and  surveyor,  the  insatiate  general 
inquirer  and  reporter,  he  is  in  any  sort  betraying  our 
confidence,  for  his  good  conscience  at  such  times,  the 
spirit  of  edification  in  him,  is  a  lesson  even  to  the 
best  of  us,  his  rich,  robust  temperament  nowhere  more 
striking,  no  more  marked  anywhere  the  great  push  of 
the  shoulder  with  which  he  makes  his  theme  move, 
overcharged  though  it  may  be  like  a  carrier's  van. 
It  is  not  therefore,  assuredly,  that  he  loses  either 
sincerity  or  power  in  putting  before  us  to  the  last  de- 
tail such  a  matter  as,  in  this  case,  his  heroine's  man- 
agement of  her  property,  her  tenantry,  her  economic 
opportunities  and  visions,  for  these  are  cases  m  wmcn 

xiv 


Honore  de  Balzac 

he  never  shrinks  nor  relents,  in  which,  positively,  he 
stiffens  and  terribly  towers,  reminds  us  again  of  M. 
Taine's  simplifying  sentence,  his  being  a  great  painter 
doubled  with  a  man  of  business.  Balzac  was  indeed 
doubled,  if  ever  a  writer  was,  and  to  that  extent  that 
we  almost  as  often,  while  we  read,  feel  ourselves  think- 
ing of  him  as  a  man  of  business  doubled  with  a  great 
painter.  Whichever  way  we  turn  it  the  oddity  never 
fails,  nor  the  wonder  of  the  ease  with  which  either 
character  bears  the  burden  of  the  other.  I  use  the 
word  burden  because,  as  the  fusion  is  never  complete 
— witness  in  the  book  before  us  the  fatal  break  of 
"  tone,"  the  one  unpardonable  sin  for  the  novelist — 
we  are  beset  by  the  conviction  that,  but  for  this 
strangest  of  dooms,  one  or  other  of  the  two  partners 
might,  to  our  relief  and  to  his  own,  have  been  dis- 
embarrassed. The  disembarrassment,  for  each,  by  a 
more  insidious  fusion,  would  probably  have  produced 
the  master  of  the  interest  proceeding  from  form,  or 
at  all  events  the  seeker  for  it,  that  Balzac  fails  to  be. 
Perhaps  the  possibility  of  an  artist  constructed  on 
such  strong  lines  is  one  of  those  fine  things  that  are 
not  of  this  world,  a  mere  dream  of  the  fond  critical 
spirit.  Let  these  speculations  and  condonations  at 
least  pass  as  the  amusement,  as  a  result  of  the  high 
spirits — if  high  spirits  be  the  word — of  the  reader 
feeling  himself  again  in  touch.  It  was  not  of  our 
author's  difficulties — that  is  of  his  difficulty,  the  great 
one — that  I  proposed  to  speak,  but  of  his  immense 
positive  effect.  Even  that,  truly,  is  not  an  impression 

xv 


Honore  de  Balzac 

of  ease,  and  it  is  strange  and  striking  that  we  are  in 
fact  so  attached  by  his  want  of  the  unity  that  keeps 
surfaces  smooth  and  dangers  down  as  scarce  to  feel 
sure  at  any  moment  that  we  shall  not  come  back  to  it 
with  most  curiosity.  We  are  never  so  curious  about 
successes  as  about  interesting  failures.  The  more 
reason  therefore  to  speak  promptly,  and  once  for  all, 
of  the  scale  on  which,  in  its  own  quarter  of  his  genius, 
success  worked  itself  out  for  him. 

It  is  to  that  I  should  come  back — to  the  infinite 
reach  in  him  of  the  painter  and  the  poet.  We  can 
never  know  what  might  have  become  of  him  with 
less  importunity  in  his  consciousness  of  the  machinery 
of  life,  of  its  furniture  and  fittings,  of  all  that,  right 
and  left,  he  causes  to  assail  us,  sometimes  almost  to 
suffocation,  under  the  general  rubric  of  things. 
Things,  in  this  sense,  with  him,  are  at  once  our  de- 
light and  our  despair;  we  pass  from  being  inordinate- 
ly beguiled  and  convinced  by  them  to  feeling  that  his 
universe  fairly  smells  too  much  of  them,  that  the 
larger  ether,  the  diviner  air,  is  in  peril  of  finding 
among  them  scarce  room  to  circulate.  His  land- 
scapes, his  "  local  colour  " — thick,  in  his  pages,  at  a 
time  when  it  was  to  be  found  in  his  pages  almost 
alone — his  towns,  his  streets,  his  houses,  his  Saumurs, 
Angoulemes,  Guerandes,  his  great  prose  Turner- 
views  of  the  land  of  the  Loire,  his  rooms,  shops,  in- 
teriors, details  of  domesticity  and  traffic,  are  a  short 
list  of  the  terms  into  which  he  saw  the  real  as  clam- 
ouring to  be  rendered  and  into  which  he  rendered 

xvi 


Honore  de  Balzac 

it  with  unequalled  authority.  It  would  be  doubtless 
more  to  the  point  to  make  our  profit  of  this  consum- 
mation than  to  try  to  reconstruct  a  Balzac  planted 
more  in  the  open.  We  hardly,  as  the  case  stands, 
know  most  whether  to  admire  in  such  an  example  as 
the  short  tale  of  La  Grenadiere  the  exquisite  feeling 
for  "  natural  objects  "  with  which  it  overflows  like  a 
brimming  wine-cup,  the  energy  of  perception  and 
description  which  so  multiplies  them  for  beauty's 
sake,  and  for  the  love  of  their  beauty,  or  the  general 
wealth  of  genius  that  can  count  so  little  and  spend  so 
joyously.  The  tale  practically  exists  for  the  sake  of 
the  enchanting  aspects  involved — those  of  the  em- 
bowered white  house  that  nestles,  on  its  terraced  hill, 
above  the  great  French  river,  and  we  can  think,  frank- 
ly, of  no  one  else  with  an  equal  amount  of  business  on 
his  hands  who  would  either  have  so  put  himself  out 
for  aspects  or  made  them,  almost  by  themselves,  a 
living  subject.  A  born  son  of  Touraine,  it  must  be 
said,  he  pictures  his  province,  on  every  pretext  and 
occasion,  with  filial  passion  and  extraordinary 
breadth.  The  prime  aspect  in  his  scene,  all  the  while, 
it  must  be  added,  is  the  money  aspect.  The  general 
money  question  so  loads  him  up  and  weighs  him  down 
that  he  moves  through  the  human  comedy,  from  be- 
ginning to  end,  very  much  in  the  fashion  of  a  camel, 
the  ship  of  the  desert,  surmounted  with  a  cargo. 
"  Things  "  for  him  are  francs  and  centimes  more  than 
any  others,  and  I  give  up  as  inscrutable,  unfathom- 
able, the  nature,  the  peculiar  avidity  of  his  interest 

xvii 


Honore  de  Balzac 

in  them.  It  makes  us  wonder  again  and  again  what 
then  is  the  use,  on  Balzac's  scale,  of  the  divine  faculty. 
The  imagination,  as  we  all  know,  may  be  employed  up 
to  a  certain  point,  in  inventing  uses  for  money;  but  its 
office  beyond  that  point  is  surely  to  make  us  forget 
that  anything  so  odious  exists.  This  is  what  Balzac 
never  forgot;  his  universe  goes  on  expressing  itself 
for  him,  to  its  furthest  reaches,  on  its  finest  sides,  in 
the  terms  of  the  market.  To  say  these  things,  how- 
ever, is,  after  all,  to  come  out  where  we  want,  to  sug- 
gest his  extraordinary  scale  and  his  terrible  complete- 
ness. I  am  not  sure  that  he  does  not  see  character 
too,  see  passion,  motive,  personality,  as  quite  in  the 
order  of  the  "  things  "  we  have  spoken  of.  He  makes 
them  no  less  concrete  and  palpable,  handles  them  no 
less  directly  and  freely.  It  is  the  whole  business,  in 
fine — that  grand  total  to  which  he  proposed  to  him- 
self to  do  high  justice — that  gives  him  his  place  apart, 
makes  him,  among  the  novelists,  the  largest,  weight- 
iest presence.  There  are  some  of  his  obsessions — 
that  of  the  material,  that  of  the  financial,  that  of  the 
"  social,"  that  of  the  technical,  political,  civil — for 
which  I  feel  myself  unable  to  judge  him,  judgment 
losing  itself,  unexpectedly,  in  a  particular  shade  of 
pity.  The  way  to  judge  him  is  to  try  to  walk  all 
round  him — on  which  we  see  how  remarkably  far  we 
have  to  go.  He  is  the  only  member  of  his  order  really 
monumental,  the  sturdiest-seated  mass  that  rises  in 
our  path. 

xviii 


Honore  de  Balzac 


ii 

We  recognise,  none  the  less,  that  the  finest  con- 
sequence of  these  re-established  relations  is  linked 
with  just  that  appearance  in  him,  that  obsession  of 
the  actual  under  so  many  heads,  that  makes  us  look 
at  him,  as  we  would  at  some  rare  animal  in  captivity, 
between  the  bars  of  a  cage.  It  amounts  to  a  kind  of 
doom,  since  to  be  solicited  by  the  world  from  all  quar- 
ters at  once — what  is  that,  for  the  spirit,  but  a  denial 
of  escape?  We  feel  his  doom  to  be  his  want  of  a  pri- 
vate 'door,  and  that  he  felt  it,  though  more  obscurely, 
himself.  When  we  speak  of  his  want  of  charm,  there- 
fore, we  perhaps  so  surrender  the  question  as  but  to 
show  our  own  poverty.  If  charm,  to  cut  it  short,  is 
what  he  lacks,  how  comes  it  that  he  so  touches  and 
holds  us  that — above  all,  if  we  be  actual  or  possible 
fellow-workers — we  are  uncomfortably  conscious  of 
the  disloyalty  of  almost  any  shade  of  surrender?  We 
are  lodged  perhaps  by  our  excited  sensibility  in  a  di- 
lemma of  which  one  of  the  horns  is  a  compassion  that 
savours  of  patronage ;  but  we  must  resign  ourselves  to 
that  by  reflecting  that  our  tenderness  at  least  takes 
nothing  away  from  him.  It  leaves  him  solidly  where 
he  is  and  only  brings  us  near,  brings  us  to  a  view  of  all 
his  formidable  parts  and  properties.  The  conception 
of  the  Comedie  Humaine  represents  them  all,  and 
represents  them  mostly  in  their  felicity  and  their  tri- 
umph— or  at  least  the  execution  does:  in  spite  of 
which  we  irresistibly  find  ourselves  thinking  of  him, 

sue 


Honore  de  Balzac 

in  reperusals,  as  most  essentially  the  victim  of  a  cruel 
joke.  The  joke  is  one  of  the  jokes  of  fate,  the  fate 
that  rode  him  for  twenty  years  at  so  terrible  a  pace 
and  with  the  whip  so  constantly  applied.  To  have 
wanted  to  do  so  much,  to  have  thought  it  possible, 
to  have  faced  and  in  a  manner  resisted  the  effort,  to 
have  felt  life  poisoned  and  consumed,  in  fine,  by  such 
a  bravery  of  self-committal — these  things  form  for  us 
in  him  a  face  of  trouble  that,  oddly  enough,  is  not 
appreciably  lighted  by  the  fact  of  his  success.  It  was 
the  having  wanted  to  do  so  much  that  was  the  trap, 
whatever  possibilities  of  glory  might  accompany  the 
good  faith  with  which  he  fell  into  it.  What  accom- 
panies us,  as  we  frequent  him,  is  a  sense  of  the  deep- 
ening ache  of  that  good  faith  with  the  increase  of  his 
working  consciousness,  the  merciless  development  of 
his  huge  subject  and  of  the  rigour  of  all  the  conditions. 
We  see  the  whole  thing  quite  as  if  Destiny  had  said  to 
him:  "You  want  to  'do'  France,  presumptuous, 
magnificent,  miserable  man — the  France  of  revolu- 
tions, revivals,  restorations,  of  Bonapartes,  Bourbons, 
republics,  of  war  and  peace,  of  blood  and  romanticism, 
of  violent  change  and  intimate  continuity,  the  France 
of  the  first  half  of  your  century?  Very  well;  you  most 
distinctly  shall,  and  you  shall  particularly  let  me  hear, 
even  if  the  great  groan  of  your  labour  do  fill  at  mo- 
ments the  temple  of  letters,  how  you  like  the  job." 
We  must  of  course  not  appear  to  deny  the  existence 
of  a  robust  joy  in  him,  the  joy  of  power  and  creation, 
the  joy  of  the  observer  and  the  dreamer  who  finds  a 

xx 


Honore  de  Balzac 

use  for  his  observations  and  his  dreams  as  fast  as  they 
come.  The  Conies  Drolatiques  would  by  themselves 
sufficiently  contradict  us,  and  the  savour  of  the  Contes 
Drolatiques  is  not  confined  to  these  productions. 
His  work  at  large  tastes  of  the  same  kind  of  humour, 
and  we  feel  him  again  and  again,  like  any  other  great 
healthy  producer  of  these  matters,  beguiled  and  car- 
ried along.  He  would  have  been,  I  dare  say,  the  last 
not  to  insist  that  the  artist  has  pleasures  forever  in- 
describable; he  lived,  in  short,  in  his  human  comedy; 
with  the  largest  life  we  can  attribute  to  the  largest  ca- 
pacity. There  are  particular  parts  of  his  subject  from 
which,  with  our  sense  of  his  enjoyment  of  them,  we 
have  to  check  the  impulse  to  call  him  away — frequent- 
ly, as,  I  confess,  in  this  connection,  that  impulse  arises. 
The  connection  is  with  the  special  element  of  his 
spectacle  from  which  he  never  fully  detaches  him- 
self, the  element,  to  express  it  succinctly,  of  the 
"  old  families  "  and  the  great  ladies.  Balzac  frankly 
revelled  in  his  conception  of  an  aristocracy — a  con- 
ception that  never  succeeded  in  becoming  his  hap- 
piest; whether,  objectively,  thanks  to  the  facts  sup- 
plied him  by  the  society  he  studied,  or  through  one  of 
the  strangest  deviations  of  taste  that  the  literary  critic 
is  likely  to  encounter.  Nothing  would  in  fact  be 
more  interesting  than  to  attempt  a  general  measure 
of  the  part  played,  in  the  total  comedy,  to  his  imag- 
ination, by  the  old  families;  and  one  or  two  contri- 
butions to  such  an  attempt  I  must  not  fail  presently 
to  make.  I  glance  at  them  here,  however,  the  delect- 

xxi 


Honore  de  Balzac 

able  class,  but  as  most  representing  on  the  author's 
part  free  and  amused  creation;  by  which,  too,  I  am 
far  from  hinting  that  the  amusement  is  at  all  at  their 
expense.  It  is  in  their  great  ladies  that  the  old  fami- 
lies most  shine  out  for  him,  images  of  strange  colour 
and  form,  but  "  felt,"  as  we  say,  to  their  finger-tips, 
and  extraordinarily  interesting  as  a  mark  of  the  high 
predominance — predominance  of  character,  of  clever- 
ness, of  will,  of  general  "  personality  " — that  almost 
every  scene  of  the  comedy  attributes  to  women.  It 
attributes  to  them  in  fact  a  recognised  and  uncon- 
tested  supremacy;  it  is  through  them  that  the  hier- 
archy of  old  families  most  expresses  itself;  and  it  is 
as  surrounded  by  them,  even  as  some  magnificent,  in- 
dulgent pasha  by  his  overflowing  seraglio,  that  Balzac 
sits  most  at  his  ease.  All  of  which  reaffirms — if  it  be 
needed — that  his  inspiration,  and  the  sense  of  it,  were 
even  greater  than  his  task.  And  yet  such  betrayals 
of  spontaneity  in  him  make,  for  an  old  friend,  at  the 
end  of  the  chapter,  no  great  difference  in  respect  to 
the  pathos — since  it  amounts  to  that — of  his  genius- 
ridden  aspect.  It  comes  to  us  as  we  go  back  to  him 
that  his  spirit  had  fairly  made  of  itself  a  cage,  in  which 
he  was  to  turn  round  and  round,  always  unwinding 
his  reel,  much  in  the  manner  of  a  criminal  condemned 
to  hard  labour  for  life.  The  cage  is  simply  the  com- 
plicated but  dreadfully  definite  French  world  that 
built  itself  so  solidly  in  and  roofed  itself  so  impene- 
trably over  him. 

It  is  not  that,  caught  there  with  him  though  we 
xxii 


Honore  de  Balzac 

be,  we  ourselves  prematurely  seek  an  issue:  we  throw 
ourselves  back,  on  the  contrary,  for  the  particular 
sense  of  it,  into  his  ancient,  superseded,  compara- 
tively rococo  and  quite  patriarchal  France — patriar- 
chal in  spite  of  social  and  political  convulsions;  into 
his  old-time,  antediluvian  Paris,  all  picturesque  and  all 
workable,  full,  to  the  fancy,  of  an  amenity  that  has 
passed  away;  into  his  intensely  differentiated  sphere 
of  la  province,  evoked  in  each  sharpest  or  faintest  note 
of  its  difference,  described  systematically  as  narrow 
and  flat,  and  yet  attaching  us  if  only  by  the  contagion 
of  the  author's  overflowing  sensibility.  He  feels,  in 
his  vast  comedy,  many  things,  but  there  is  nothing 
he  feels  with  the  communicable  shocks  and  vibrations, 
the  sustained  fury  of  perception — not  always  a  fierce- 
ness of  judgment,  which  is  another  matter — that  la 
province  excites  in  him.  Half  our  interest  in  him 
springs  still  from  our  own  sense  that,  for  all  the  con- 
vulsions, the  revolutions,  and  experiments  that  have 
come  and  gone,  the  order  he  describes  is  the  old  order 
that  our  sense  of  the  past  perversely  recurs  to  as 
to  something  happy  we  have  irretrievably  missed. 
His  pages  bristle  with  the  revelation  of  the  linger- 
ing earlier  world,  the  world  in  which  places  and 
people  still  had  their  queerness,  their  strong  marks, 
their  sharp  type,  and  in  which,  as  before  the  platitude 
that  was  to  come,  the  observer  with  an  appetite  for 
the  salient  could,  by  way  of  precaution,  fill  his  lungs. 
Balzac's  appetite  for  the  salient  was  voracious,  yet  he 
came,  as  it  were,  in  time,  in  spite  of  his  so  often  speak- 

xxiii 


Honore  de  Balzac 

ing  as  if  what  he  sees  about  him  is  but  the  last  deso- 
lation of  the  modern.  His  conservatism,  the  most 
entire,  consistent,  and  convinced  that  ever  was — yet 
even  at  that  much  inclined  to  whistling  in  the  dark 
as  if  to  the  tune  of  "  Oh,  how  mediaeval  I  am! " — 
was  doubtless  the  best  point  of  view  from  which  he 
could  rake  his  field.  But  if  what  he  sniffed  from  afar, 
in  that  position,  was  the  extremity  of  change,  we  in 
turn  feel  both  subject  and  painter  drenched  with  the 
smell  of  the  past.  It  is  preserved  in  his  work  as  no- 
where else — not  vague,  nor  faint,  nor  delicate,  but 
as  strong  to-day  as  when  first  distilled. 

It  may  seem  odd  to  find  the  taste  of  sadness  in 
the  fact  that  a  great  worker  succeeded  in  clasping  his 
opportunity  in  such  an  embrace,  that  being  exactly 
our  usual  measure  of  the  felicity  of  great  workers.  I 
speak,  I  hasten  to  reassert,  all  in  the  name  of  sym- 
pathy— without  which  it  would  have  been  detestable 
to  speak  at  all;  and  this  sentiment  puts  its  hand  in- 
stinctively on  the  thing  that  makes  it  least  futile.  This 
particular  thing  then  is  not  in  the  least  Balzac's  own 
hold  of  his  terrible  mass  of  matter;  it  is  absolutely 
the  convolutions  of  the  serpent  he  had  with  a  mag- 
nificent courage  invited  to  wind  itself  round  him.  We 
must  use  the  common  image — he  had  created  his 
Frankenstein  monster.  It  is  the  fellow-craftsman  who 
can  most  feel  for  him — it  being  apparently  possible 
to  read  him  from  another  point  of  view  without  get- 
ting really  into  his  presence.  We  undergo  with  him 
from  book  to  book,  from  picture  to  picture,  the  con- 

xxiv 


Honore  de  Balzac 

volutions  of  the  serpent,  we  especially  whose  refined 
performances  are  given,  as  we  know,  with  but  the 
small  common  or  garden  snake.  I  stick  to  this  to 
justify  my  image,  just  above,  of  his  having  been 
"  caged  "  by  the  intensity  with  which  he  saw  his  gen- 
eral subject  as  a  whole.  To  see  it  always  as  a  whole 
is  our  wise,  our  virtuous  effort,  the  very  condition, 
as  we  keep  in  mind,  of  superior  art.  Balzac  was  in 
this  connection  then  wise  and  virtuous  to  the  most 
exemplary  degree;  so  that  he  ought  logically,  doubt- 
less, but  to  prompt  to  complacent  reflections.  No 
painter  ever  saw  his  general  subject  half  so  much  as 
a  whole.  Why  is  it  then  that  we  hover  about  him, 
if  we  are  real  Balzacians,  not  with  cheerful  chatter, 
but  with  a  consideration  deeper  in  its  reach  than  any 
mere  moralizing?  The  reason  is  largely  that,  if  you 
wish  with  absolute  immaculate  virtue  to  look  at  your 
subject  as  a  whole  and  yet  remain  a  theme  for  cheer- 
ful chatter,  you  must  be  careful  to  take  a  subject  that 
will  not  hug  you  to  death.  Balzac's  active  intention 
was,  to  vary  our  simile,  a  beast  with  a  hundred  claws, 
and  the  spectacle  is  in  the  hugging  process  of  which, 
as  energy  against  energy,  the  beast  was  capable.  Its 
victim  died  of  the  process  at  fifty,  and  if  what  we  see 
in  the  long  gallery  in  which  it  is  mirrored  is  not  the 
defeat,  but  the  admirable  resistance,  we  none  the  less 
never  lose  the  sense  that  the  fighter  is  shut  up  with 
his  fate.  He  has  locked  himself  in — it  is  doubtless 
his  own  fault — and  thrown  the  key  away.  Most  of 
all  perhaps  the  impression  comes — the  impression  of 

XXV 


Honore  de  Balzac 

the  adventurer  committed  and  anxious,  but  with  no 
retreat — from  the  so  formidably  concrete  nature  of 
his  material.  When  we  work  in  the  open,  as  it  were, 
our  material  is  not  classed  and  catalogued,  so  that  we 
have  at  hand  a  hundred  ways  of  being  loose,  superfi- 
cial, disingenuous,  and  yet  passing,  to  our  no  small 
profit,  for  remarkable.  Balzac  had  no  open;  he  held 
that  the  great  central,  normal,  fruitful  country  of  his 
birth  and  race,  overarched  with  its  infinite  social  com- 
plexity, yielded  a  sufficiency  of  earth  and  sea  and  sky. 
We  seem  to  see  as  his  catastrophe  that  the  sky,  all 
the  same,  came  down  on  him.  He  couldn't  keep  it 
up — in  more  senses  than  one.  These  are  perhaps  fine 
fancies  for  a  critic  to  weave  about  a  literary  figure  of 
whom  he  has  undertaken  to  give  a  plain  account ;  but 
I  leave  them  so  on  the  plea  that  there  are  relations 
in  which,  for  the  Balzacian,  criticism  simply  drops 
out.  That  is  not  a  liberty,  I  admit,  ever  to  be  much 
encouraged;  critics  in  fact  are  the  only  people  who 
have  a  right  occasionally  to  take  it.  There  is  no  such 
plain  account  of  the  Comedie  Humaine  as  that  it  makes 
us  fold  up  our  yard-measure  and  put  away  our  note- 
book quite  as  we  do  with  some  extraordinary  charac- 
ter, some  mysterious  and  various  stranger  who  brings 
with  him  his  own  standards  and  his  own  air.  There 
is  a  kind  of  eminent  presence  that  abashes  even  the 
interviewer,  moves  him  to  respect  and  wonder,  makes 
him,  for  consideration  itself,  not  insist.  This  takes 
of  course  a  personage  sole  of  his  kind.  But  such  a 
personage  precisely  is  Balzac. 

xxvi 


Honore  de  Balzac 


in 

By  all  of  which,  none  the  less,  I  have  felt  it  but  too 
clear  that  I  must  not  pretend  here  to  take  apart  the 
pieces  of  his  immense  complicated  work,  to  number 
them  or  group  them  or  dispose  them  about.  The 
most  we  can  do  is  to  pick  one  up  here  and  there  and 
wonder,  as  we  weigh  it  in  our  hand,  at  its  close,  com- 
pact substance.  That  is  all  even  M.  Taine  could  do 
in  the  longest  and  most  penetrating  study  of  which 
our  author  has  been  the  subject.  Every  piece  we 
handle  is  so  full  of  stuff,  condensed  like  the  edibles 
provided  for  campaigns  and  explorations,  positively 
so  charged,  in  a  word,  with  life,  that  we  find  ourselves 
dropping  it,  in  certain  states  of  sensibility,  as  we  drop 
an  object,  unguardedly  touched,  that  startles  us  by 
being  animate.  We  seem  really  scarce  to  want  any- 
thing to  be  so  animate.  It  would  verily  take  Balzac 
to  detail  Balzac,  and  he  has  had  in  fact  Balzacians 
nearly  enough  affiliated  to  affront  the  task  with  cour- 
age. The  Repertoire  de  la  Comedie  Humaine  of  MM. 
Anatole  Cerfberr  and  Jules  Christophe  is  a  closely- 
printed  octavo  of  550  pages,  which  constitutes,  in 
relation  to  his  characters  great  and  small,  an  impec- 
cable biographical  dictionary.  His  votaries  and  ex- 
positors are  so  numerous  that  the  Balzac  library  of 
comment  and  research  must  be,  of  its  type,  one  of  the 
most  copious.  M.  de  Lovenjoul  has  laboured  all 
round  the  subject;  his  Histoire  des  GEuvres  alone  is 
another  crowded  octavo  of  400  pages;  in  connection 

xxvii 


Honore  de  Balzac 

with  which  I  must  mention  Miss  Wormeley,  the  de- 
voted American  translator,  interpreter,  worshipper, 
who  in  the  course  of  her  own  studies  has  so  often 
found  occasion  to  differ  from  M.  de  Lovenjoul  on 
matters  of  fact  and  questions  of  date  and  of  appre- 
ciation. Miss  Wormeley,  M.  Paul  Bourget,  and 
many  others  are  examples  of  the  passionate  piety  that 
our  author  can  inspire.  As  I  turn  over  the  encyclo- 
pedia of  his  characters  I  note  that  whereas  such  works 
usually  commemorate  only  the  ostensibly  eminent  of 
a  race  and  time,  every  creature  so  much  as  named 
in  the  fictive  swarm  is  in  this  case  preserved  to  fame: 
so  close  is  the  implication  that  to  have  been  named  by 
such  a  dispenser  of  life  and  privilege  is  to  be,  as  we 
say  it  of  baronets  and  peers,  created.  He  infinitely 
divided  moreover,  as  we  know,  he  subdivided,  altered, 
and  multiplied  his  heads  and  categories — his  Vie 
Parisienne,  his  Vie  de  Province,  his  Vie  Politique,  his 
Parents  Pauvres,  his  Etudes  Philosophiques,  his  Splen- 
deurs  et  Miseres  des  Courtisanes,  his  Envers  de  VHistoire 
Contemporaine,  and  all  the  rest;  so  that  nominal  refer- 
ence to  them  becomes  the  more  difficult.  Yet  with- 
out prejudice  either  to  the  energy  of  conception  with 
which  he  mapped  out  his  theme  as  with  chalk  on  a 
huge  blackboard,  or  to  the  prodigious  patience  with 
which  he  executed  his  plan,  practically  filling  in,  with 
a  wealth  of  illustration,  from  sources  that  to  this  day 
we  fail  to  make  out,  every  compartment  of  his  table, 
M.  de  Lovenjoul  draws  up  the  list,  year  by  year,  from 
1822  to  1848,  of  his  mass  of  work,  giving  us  thus  the 

xxviii 


Honore  de  Balzac 

measure  of  the  tension  represented  for  him  by  almost 
any  twelve-month.  It  is  wholly  unequalled,  consider- 
ing the  quality  of  Balzac's  production,  by  any  other 
eminent  abundance. 

I  must  be  pardoned  for  coming  back  to  it,  for 
seeming  unable  to  leave  it;  it  enshrouds  so  interesting 
a  mystery.  How  was  so  solidly  systematic  a  literary 
attack  on  life  to  be  conjoined  with  whatever  work- 
able minimum  of  needful  intermission,  of  free  obser- 
vation, of  personal  experience?  Some  small  possi- 
bility of  personal  experience,  of  disinterested  life,  must 
at  the  worst,  from  deep  within  or  far  without,  feed  and 
fortify  the  strained  productive  machine.  These  things 
were  luxuries  that  Balzac  appears  really  never  to  have 
tasted  on  any  appreciable  scale.  His  published  let- 
ters— the  driest  and  most  starved  of  those  of  any 
man  of  equal  distinction — are  with  the  exception  of 
those  to  Mme.  de  Hanska,  whom  he  married  shortly 
before  his  death,  almost  exclusively  the  audible  wail 
of  a  galley-slave  chained  to  the  oar.  M.  Zola,  in  our 
time,  among  the  novelists,  has  sacrificed  to  intensity 
of  production  in  something  of  the  same  manner,  yet 
with  goodly  modern  differences  that  leave  him  a  com- 
paratively simple  instance.  His  work,  assuredly,  has 
been  more  nearly  dried  up  by  the  sacrifice  than  ever 
Balzac's  was — so  miraculously,  given  the  conditions, 
was  Balzac's  to  escape  the  anticlimax.  Method  and 
system,  in  the  chronicle  of  the  race  of  Rougon-Mac- 
quart,  an  economy  in  itself  certainly  of  the  rarest  and 
most  interesting,  have  spread  so  from  centre  to  cir- 

xx>!x  Vol.  a 


Honore  de  Balzac 

cumference  that  they  have  ended  by  being  almost  the 
only  thing  we  feel.  And  then  M.  Zola  has  survived 
and  triumphed  in  his  lifetime,  has  continued  and 
lasted,  has  piled  up,  and,  if  the  remark  be  not  frivo- 
lous, enjoyed  in  all  its  agrements  the  reward  for  which 
Balzac  toiled  and  sweated  in  vain.  On  top  of  which 
he  will  have  had  also  his  literary  great-grandfather's 
heroic  example  to  start  from  and  profit  by,  the  posi- 
tive heritage  of  a  fits  de  famille  to  enjoy,  spend,  save, 
waste.  Balzac,  frankly,  had  no  heritage  at  all  but  his 
stiff  subject,  and,  by  way  of  model,  not  even,  in  any 
direct  or  immediate  manner,  that  of  the  inner  light 
and  kindly  admonition  of  his  genius.  Nothing  adds 
more  to  the  strangeness  of  his  general  performance 
than  his  having  failed  so  long  to  find  his  inner  light, 
groped  for  it  for  nearly  ten  years,  missed  it  again  and 
again,  moved  straight  away  from  it,  turned  his  back 
on  it,  lived,  in  fine,  round  about  it,  in  a  darkness  still 
scarce  penetrable,  a  darkness  into  which  we  peep  only 
half  to  make  out  the  dreary  little  waste  of  his  numer- 
ous ceuvres  de  jeunesse.  To  M.  Zola  was  vouchsafed 
the  good  fortune  of  settling  down  to  the  Rougon- 
Macquart  with  the  happiest  promptitude;  it  was  as  if 
time  for  one  look  about  him — and  I  say  it  without  dis- 
paragement to  the  reach  of  his  look — had  sufficiently 
served  his  purpose.  Balzac,  moreover,  might  have 
written  five  hundred  novels  without  our  feeling  in 
him  the  faintest  hint  of  the  breath  of  doom,  if  he  had 
only  been  comfortably  capable  of  conceiving  the  short 
cut  of  the  fashion  practised  by  others  under  his  eyes* 

XXX 


Honore  de  Balzac 

As  Alexandre  Dumas  and  Mme.  George  Sand,  illus- 
trious contemporaries,  cultivated  a  personal  life  and 
a  disinterested  consciousness  by  the  bushel,  having, 
for  their  easier  duration,  not  too  consistently  known, 
as  the  true  painter  knows  it,  the  obsession  of  the  thing 
to  be  done,  so  Balzac  was  condemned  by  his  con- 
stitution itself,  by  his  inveterately  seeing  this  "  thing 
to  be  done  "  as  part  and  parcel,  as  of  the  very  essence, 
of  his  subject.  The  latter  existed  for  him,  as  the  pro- 
cess worked  and  hallucination  set  in,  in  the  form,  and 
the  form  only,  of  the  thing  done,  and  not  in  any 
hocus-pocus  about  doing.  There  was  no  kindly  con- 
venient escape  for  him  by  the  little  swinging  back- 
door of  the  thing  not  done.  He  desired — no  man 
more — to  get  out  of  his  obsession,  but  only  at  the 
other  end,  that  is  by  boring  through  it.  "  How  then, 
thus  deprived  of  the  outer  air  almost  as  much  as  if 
he  were  gouging  a  passage  for  a  railway  through  an 
Alp,  did  he  live?  "  is  the  question  that  haunts  us — 
with  the  consequence,  for  the  most  part,  of  promptly 
meeting  its  answer.  He  did  not  live — save  in  his  im- 
agination, or  by  other  aid  than  he  could  find  there;  his 
imagination  was,  in  fine,  his  experience — he  had  prov- 
ably  no  time  for  the  real  thing.  This  brings  us  to  the 
rich  if  simple  truth  that  his  imagination  alone  did 
the  business,  carried  through  both  the  conception  and 
the  execution — as  large  an  effort  and  as  proportionate 
a  success,  in  all  but  the  vulgar  sense,  as  the  faculty, 
equally  handicapped,  was  ever  concerned  in.  Handi- 
capped I  say  because  this  interesting  fact  about  him, 

xxxi 


Honore  de  Balzac 

with  the  claim  it  makes,  rests  on  the  ground,  the  high 
distinction,  that,  more  than  all  the  rest  of  us  put  to- 
gether, he  went  in,  as  we  say,  for  detail,  circumstance, 
and  specification,  proposed  to  himself  all  the  connec- 
tions of  every  part  of  his  matter  and  the  full  total  of 
the  parts.  The  whole  thing,  it  is  impossible  not  to 
keep  repeating,  was  what  he  deemed  treatable.  One 
really  knows,  in  all  imaginative  literature,  no  enter- 
prise to  compare  with  it  for  courage,  good  faith,  and 
sublimity.  There,  once  more,  was  the  necessity  that 
rode  him  and  that  places  him  apart  in  our  homage. 
It  is  no  light  thing  to  have  been  condemned  to  be- 
come provably  sublime.  And  looking  through,  or 
trying  to,  at  what  is  beneath,  behind,  we  are  left  be- 
nevolently uncertain  if  the  predominant  quantity  be 
audacity  or  innocence. 

It  is  of  course  inevitable  at  this  point  to  seem  to 
hear  the  colder  critic  promptly  take  us  up.  He  un- 
dertook the  whole  thing — oh,  exactly — the  ponderous 
person!  But  did  he  "do"  the  whole  thing,  if  you 
please,  any  more  than  sundry  others  of  fewer  preten- 
sions? The  answer  to  this  is  one  that  it  is  a  positive  joy 
to  give,  so  sharp  a  note  instantly  sounds  as  an  effect  of 
the  inquiry.  Nothing  is  more  interesting  and  amusing 
than  to  find  one's  self  recognising  both  that  Balzac's 
pretensions  were  immense,  portentous,  and  that  yet, 
taking  him — and  taking  them — altogether,  they  only 
minister,  in  the  long  run,  to  our  fondness.  They  affect 
us  not  only  as  the  endearing  eccentricities  of  a  person 
we  greatly  admire,  but  fairly  as  the  very  condition  of 

xxxii 


Honore  de  Balzac 

his  having  become  such  a  person.  We  take  them 
thus  in  the  first  place  for  the  very  terms  of  his  plan, 
and  in  the  second  for  a  part  of  that  high  robustness 
and  that  general  richness  of  nature  which  made  him, 
in  the  face  of  such  a  plan,  believe  in  himself.  One 
would  really  scarce  have  liked  to  see  such  a  job  as 
La  Comedie  Humaine  tackled  without  swagger.  To 
think  of  the  thing  really  as  practicable  was  swagger, 
and  of  the  very  highest  order.  So  to  think  assuredly 
implied  pretensions,  pretensions  that  risked  showing 
as  monstrous  should  the  enterprise  fail  to  succeed. 
It  is  for  the  colder  critic  to  take  the  trouble  to  make 
out  that  of  the  two  parties  to  it  the  body  of  pretension 
remains  greater  than  the  success.  One  may  put  it, 
moreover,  at  the  worst  for  him,  recognise  that  it  is  in 
the  matter  of  opinion  still  more  than  in  the  matter  of 
knowledge  that  Balzac  offers  himself  as  universally 
competent.  He  has  flights  of  judgment — on  subjects 
the  most  special  as  well  as  the  most  general — that  are 
vertiginous,  and  on  his  alighting  from  which  we  greet 
him  with  a  peculiar  indulgence.  We  can  easily  im- 
agine him  to  respond,  confessing  humorously- — if  he 
had  only  time — to  such  a  benevolent,  understanding 
smile  as  would  fain  hold  our  own  eyes  a  moment. 
Then  it  is  that  he  would  most  show  us  his  scheme  and 
his  necessities,  and  how,  in  operation,  they  all  hang 
together.  Naturally  everything  about  everything, 
though  how  he  had  time  to  learn  it  is  the  last  thing 
he  has  time  to  tell  us;  which  matters  the  less,  more- 
over, as  it  is  not  over  the  question  of  his  knowledge 

xxxiii 


Honore  de  Balzac 

that  we  sociably  invite  him,  as  it  were  (and  remem- 
bering the  two  augurs  behind  the  altar),  to  wink  at  us. 
His  convictions  it  is  that  are  his  great,  pardonable 
"  swagger  ";  to  them  in  particular  I  refer  as  his  gen- 
eral operative  condition,  the  constituted  terms  of  his 
experiment,  and,  not  less,  as  his  consolation,  his  sup- 
port, his  amusement  by  the  way.  They  embrace 
everything  in  the  world — that  is  in  his  world  of  the 
high-coloured  France  of  his  time:  religion,  morals, 
politics,  economics,  physics,  aesthetics,  letters,  art, 
science,  sociology,  every  question  of  faith,  every 
branch  of  research.  They  represent  thus  his  equip- 
ment of  ideas,  those  ideas  of  which  it  will  never  do 
for  a  man  who  aspires  to  constitute  a  state  to  be  de- 
prived. He  must  take  them  with  him  as  an  ambassa- 
dor extraordinary  takes  with  him  secretaries,  uni- 
forms, stars  and  garters,  a  gilded  coach  and  a  high 
assurance.  Balzac's  opinions  are  his  gilded  coach,  in 
which  he  is  more  amused  than  anything  else  to  feel 
himself  riding,  but  which  is  indispensably  concerned 
in  getting  him  over  the  ground.  What  more  inevi- 
table than  that  they  should  be  intensely  Catholic,  in- 
tensely monarchical,  intensely  saturated  with  the  real 
genius — as  between  1830  and  1848  he  believed  it  to 
be — of  the  French  character  and  French  institutions? 
Nothing  is  happier  for  us  than  that  he  should  have 
enjoyed  his  outlook  before  the  first  half  of  the  cen- 
tury closed.  He  could  then  still  treat  his  subject  as 
comparatively  homogeneous.  Any  country  could 
have  a  Revolution — every  country  had  had  one.  A 

xxxiv 


Honore  de  Balzac 

Restoration  was  merely  what  a  revolution  involved, 
and  the  Empire  had  been,  with  the  French,  but  a 
revolutionary  incident,  in  addition  to  being,  by  good 
luck,  for  the  novelist,  an  immensely  pictorial  one.  He 
was  free,  therefore,  to  arrange  the  background  of  the 
comedy  in  the  manner  that  seemed  to  him  best  to  suit 
anything  so  great;  in  the  manner,  at  the  same  time, 
prescribed,  according  to  his  contention,  by  the  no- 
blest traditions.  The  church,  the  throne,  the  noblesse, 
the  bourgeoisie,  the  people,  the  peasantry,  all  in  their 
order,  and  each  solidly  kept  in  it,  these  were  precious 
things,  things  his  superabundant  insistence  on  the 
price  of  which  is  what  I  refer  to  as  his  exuberance 
of  opinion.  It  was  a  luxury  for  more  reasons  than 
one,  though  one,  presently  to  be  mentioned,  hand- 
somely predominates.  The  meaning  of  that  exchange 
of  intelligences  in  the  rear  of  the  oracle  which  I  have 
figured  for  him  with  the  perceptive  friend  bears  simply 
on  his  pleading  guilty  to  the  purport  of  the  friend's 
discrimination.  The  point  the  latter  makes  with  him 
— a  beautiful,  cordial,  critical  point — is  that  he  truly 
cares  for  nothing  in  the  world,  thank  goodness,  so 
much  as  for  the  passions  and  embroilments  of  men 
and  women,  the  free  play  of  character  and  the  sharp 
revelation  of  type,  all  the  real  stuff  of  the  drama  and 
the  native  food  of  the  novelist.  Religion,  morals,  poli- 
tics, economics,  aesthetics,  would  be  thus,  as  system- 
atic matter,  very  well  in  their  place,  but  quite  second- 
ary and  subservient.  Balzac's  attitude  is  again  and 
again  that  he  cares  for  the  adventures  and  emotions 

XXXV 


Honore  de  Balzac 

because,  as  his  last  word,  he  cares  for  the  good  and 
the  greatness  of  the  state — which  is  where  his  swag- 
ger, with  a  whole  society  on  his  hands,  comes  in. 
What  we  on  our  side  in  a  thousand  places  gratefully 
feel  is  that  he  cares  for  his  monarchical  and  hierarchi- 
cal and  ecclesiastical  society  because  it  rounds  itself, 
for  his  mind,  into  the  most  congruous  and  capacious 
theatre  for  the  repertory  of  his  innumerable  come- 
dians. It  has,  above  all,  for  a  painter  abhorrent  of  the 
superficial,  the  inestimable  benefit  of  the  accumulated, 
of  strong  marks  and  fine  shades,  contrasts  and  com- 
plications. There  had  certainly  been  since  1789  dis- 
persals and  confusions  enough,  but  the  thick  tradi- 
tion, no  more,  at  the  most,  than  half  smothered,  lay 
under  them  all.  So  the  whole  of  his  faith  and  no  small 
part  of  his  working  omniscience  were  neither  more 
nor  less  than  that  historic  sense  which  I  have  spoken 
of  as  the  spur  of  his  invention  and  which  he  possessed 
as  no  other  novelist  has  done.  We  immediately  feel 
that  to  name  it  in  connection  with  him  is  to  answer 
every  question  he  suggests  and  to  account  for  each  of 
his  idiosyncrasies  in  turn.  The  novel,  the  tale,  how- 
ever brief,  the  passage,  the  sentence  by  itself,  the  sit- 
uation, the  person,  the  place,  the  motive  exposed,  the 
speech  reported — these  things  were,  in  his  view,  his- 
tory, with  the  absoluteness  and  the  dignity  of  history. 
This  is  the  source  both  of  his  weight  and  of  his  wealth. 
What  is  the  historic  sense  after  all  but  animated,  but 
impassioned  knowledge  seeking;  to  enlarge  itself?  I 
have  said  that  his  imagination  did  the  whole  thing, 

xxxvi 


Honord  de  Balzac 

no  other  explanation — no  reckoning-  of  the  possibili- 
ties of  personal  saturation — meeting  the  mysteries  of 
the  case.  Therefore  his  imagination  achieved  the 
miracle  of  absolutely  resolving  itself  into  multifarious 
knowledge.  Since  history  proceeds  by  documents,  he 
constructed,  as  he  needed  them,  the  documents  too — 
fictive  sources  that  imitated  the  actual  to  the  life.  It 
was  of  course  a  terrible  business,  but  at  least,  in  the 
light  of  it,  his  pretensions  to  infinitude  are  justified—- 
which is  what  was  to  be  shown. 


IV 

It  is  very  well,  even  in  the  sketchiest  attempt  at 
a  portrait  of  his  genius,  to  try  to  take  particulars  in 
their  order:  one  peeps  over  the  shoulder  of  another 
at  the  moment  we  get  a  feature  into  focus.  The  loud 
appeal  not  to  be  left  out  prevails  among  them  all,  and 
certainly  with  the  excuse  that  each,  as  we  fix  it,  seems 
to  fall  most  into  the  picture.  I  have  indulged  myself 
so  as  to  his  general  air  that  I  find  a  whole  list  of  vivid 
contributive  marks  almost  left  on  my  hands.  Such  a 
list,  in  any  study  of  Balzac,  is  delightful  for  intimate 
edification  as  well  as  for  the  fine  humour  of  the  thing; 
we  proceed  from  one  of  the  items  of  his  breathing 
physiognomy  to  the  other  with  quite  the  same  sense 
of  life,  the  same  active  curiosity,  with  which  we  push 
our  way  through  the  thick  undergrowth  of  one  of  the 
novels.  The  difficulty  is  really  that  the  special  point 
for  which  one  at  the  moment  observes  him  melts  into 

xxxvii 


Honor£  de  Balzac 

all  the  other  points,  is  swallowed  up  before  one's  eyes 
in  the  formidable  mass.  The  French  apply  the  best  of 
terms  to  certain  characters  when  they  speak  of  them 
as  entierSy  and  if  the  word  had  been  invented  for  Balzac 
it  could  scarce  better  have  expressed  him.  He  is  "  en- 
tire "  as  was  never  a  man  of  his  craft;  he  moves  always 
in  his  mass;  wherever  we  find  him  we  find  him  in  force; 
whatever  touch  he  applies  he  applies  it  with  his  whole 
apparatus.  He  is  like  an  army  gathered  to  besiege  a 
cottage  equally  with  a  city,  and  living  voraciously,  in 
either  case,  on  all  the  country  about.  It  may  well  be, 
at  any  rate,  that  his  infatuation  with  the  idea  of  the 
social,  the  practical  primacy  of  "  the  sex  "  is  the  ar- 
ticle at  the  top  of  one's  list;  there  could  certainly  be 
no  better  occasion  than  this  of  a  rich  reissue  of  the 
Deux  Jeunes  Mariees  for  placing  it  there  at  a  venture. 
Here  indeed,  precisely,  we  get  a  sharp  example  of  the 
way  in  which,  as  I  have  just  said,  a  capital  illustration 
of  one  of  his  sides  becomes,  just  as  we  take  it  up,  a 
capital  illustration  of  another.  The  correspondence 
of  Louise  de  Chaulieu  and  Renee  de  Maucombe  is  in 
fact  one  of  those  cases  that  light  up  with  a  great 
golden  glow  all  his  parts  at  once.  We  needn't  mean 
by  this  that  such  parts  are  themselves  absolutely  all 
golden — given  the  amount  of  tinsel,  for  instance,  in 
his  view,  supereminent,  transcendent  here,  of  the  old 
families  and  the  great  ladies.  What  we  do  convey, 
however,  is  that  his  creative  temperament  finds  in  such 
data  as  these  one  of  its  best  occasions  for  shining  out. 
Again  we  fondly  recognise  his  splendid,  his  attaching 

xxxviii 


Honore  de  Balzac 

swagger — that  of  a  "  bounder  "  of  genius  and  of  feel- 
ing; again  we  see  how,  with  opportunity,  its  elements 
may  vibrate  into  a  perfect  ecstasy  of  creation. 

Why  shouldn't  a  man  swagger,  he  treats  us  to  the 
diversion  of  asking  ourselves,  who  has  created,  from 
top  to  toe,  the  most  brilliant,  the  most  historic,  the 
most  insolent,  above  all  the  most  detailed  and  dis- 
criminated of  aristocracies?  Balzac  carried  the  up- 
permost class  of  his  comedy,  from  the  princes,  dukes, 
and  unspeakable  duchesses  down  to  his  poor  barons 
de  province,  about  in  his  pocket  as  he  might  have  car- 
ried a  tolerably  befingered  pack  of  cards,  to  deal  them 
about  with  a  flourish  of  the  highest  authority  when- 
ever there  was  a  chance  of  a  game.  He  knew  them 
up  and  down  and  in  and  out,  their  arms,  infallibly  sup- 
plied, their  quarterings,  pedigrees,  services,  intermar- 
riages, relationships,  ramifications,  and  other  delect- 
able attributes.  This  indeed  is  comparatively  simple 
learning;  the  real  wonder  is  rather  when  we  linger  on 
the  ground  of  the  patrician  consciousness  itself,  the 
innermost,  the  esoteric,  the  spirit,  temper,  tone — tone 
above  all— of  the  titled  and  the  proud.  The  questions 
multiply  for  every  scene  of  the  comedy;  there  is  no 
one  who  makes  us  walk  in  such  a  cloud  of  them.  The 
clouds  elsewhere,  in  comparison,  are  at  best  of  ques- 
tions not  worth  asking.  Was  the  patrician  conscious- 
ness that  figured  as  our  author's  model  so  splendidly 
fatuous  as  he — almost  without  irony,  often  in  fact 
with  a  certain  poetic  sympathy — everywhere  repre- 
sents it?  His  imagination  lives  in  it,  breathes  its 

xxxix 


Honore  de  Balzac 

scented  air,  swallows  this  element  with  the  smack  of 
the  lips  of  the  connoisseur;  but  I  feel  that  we  never 
know,  even  to  the  end,  whether  he  be  here  directly 
historic  or  only,  quite  misguidedly,  romantic.  The 
romantic  side  of  him  has  the  extent  of  all  the  others; 
it  represents,  in  the  oddest  manner,  his  escape  from 
the  walled  and  roofed  structure  into  which  he  had 
built  himself — his  longing  for  the  vaguely-felt  out- 
side, for  the  rest,  so  to  speak,  of  the  globe.  But  it  is 
characteristic  of  him  that  the  most  he  could  do  for  this 
relief  was  to  bring  the  fantastic  into  the  circle  and  fit 
it  somehow  to  his  conditions.  Was  the  tone  of  his 
duchesses  and  marquises  but  the  imported  fantastic, 
one  of  those  smashes  of  the  window-pane  of  the  real 
that  reactions  sometimes  produce  even  in  the  stub- 
born? or  are  we  to  take  it  as  observed,  as  really  re- 
ported, as,  for  all  its  difference  from  our  notion  of  the 
natural — and,  quite  as  much,  of  the  artificial — in 
another  and  happier  strain  of  manners,  substantially 
true?  The  whole  episode,  in  Les  Illusions  Perdues,  of 
Mme.  de  Bargeton's  "  chucking  "  Lucien  de  Rubem- 
pre,  on  reaching  Paris  with  him,  under  pressure  of 
Mme.  d'Espard's  shockability  as  to  his  coat  and  trou- 
sers, and  other  such  matters,  is  either  a  magnificent 
lurid  document  or  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision.  The 
great  wonder  is  that,  as  I  rejoice  to  put  it,  we  can 
never  really  discover  which,  and  that  we  feel,  as  we 
read,  that  we  can't,  and  that  we  suffer  at  the  hands 
of  no  other  author  this  particular  helplessness  of  im- 
mersion. It  is  done — we  are  always  thrown  back  on 

xl 


Honore  de  Balzac 

that;  we  can't  get  out  of  it ;  all  we  can  do  is  to  say  that 
the  true  itself  can't  be  more  than  done,  and  that  if 
the  false  in  this  way  equals  it  we  must  give  up  looking 
for  the  difference.  Alone  among  novelists  Balzac  has 
the  secret  of  an  insistence  that  somehow  makes  the 
difference  nought.  He  warms  his  facts  into  life — as 
witness  the  certainty  that  the  episode  I  just  cited  has 
absolutely  as  much  of  that  property  as  if  perfect 
matching  had  been  achieved.  If  the  great  ladies  in 
question  didn't  behave,  wouldn't,  couldn't  have  be- 
haved, like  a  pair  of  frightened  snobs,  why,  so  much 
the  worse,  we  say  to  ourselves,  for  the  great  ladies  in 
question.  We  know  them  so— they  owe  their  being  to 
our  so  seeing  them;  whereas  we  never  can  tell  our- 
selves how  we  should  otherwise  have  known  them  or 
what  quantity  of  being  they  would,  on  a  different 
footing,  have  been  able  to  show  us. 

The  case  is  the  same  with  Louise  de  Chaulieu, 
who,  besides  coming  out  of  her  convent  school,  as  a' 
quite  young  thing,  with  an  amount  of  sophistication 
that  would  have  chilled  the  heart  of  a  horse-dealer, 
exhales — and  to  her  familiar  friend,  a  young  person  of 
a  supposedly  equal  breeding — an  extravagance  of 
complacency  in  her  "  social  position  "  that  makes  us 
rub  our  eyes.  Whereupon,  after  a  little,  the  same 
phenomenon  occurs;  we  swallow  her  bragging, 
against  our  better  reason,  or  at  any  rate  our  startled 
sense,  under  coercion  of  the  total  intensity.  We  do 
more  than  this,  we  cease  to  care  for  the  question, 
which  loses  itself  in  the  Hot  fusion  of  the  whole  pic- 

xli 


Honore  de  Balzac 

ture.  He  has  "  gone  for  "  his  subject,  in  the  vulgar 
phrase,  with  an  avidity  that  makes  the  attack  of  his 
most  eminent  rivals  affect  us  as  the  intercourse  be- 
tween introduced  indifferences  at  a  dull  evening 
party.  He  squeezes  it  till  it  cries  out,  we  hardly  know 
whether  for  pleasure  or  pain.  In  the  case  before  us, 
for  example — without  wandering  from  book  to  book, 
impossible  here,  I  make  the  most  of  the  ground  al- 
ready broken — he  has  seen  at  once  that  the  state  of 
marriage  itself,  sounded  to  its  depths,  is,  in  the  con- 
nection, his  real  theme.  He  sees  it  of  course  in  the 
conditions  that  exist  for  him,  but  he  weighs  it  to  the 
last  ounce,  feels  it  in  all  its  dimensions,  as  well  as  in 
all  his  own,  and  would  scorn  to  take  refuge  in  any  en- 
gaging side-issue.  He  gets,  for  further  intensity,  into 
the  very  skin  of  his  jeunes  mariees — into  each  alter- 
nately, as  they  are  different  enough ;  so  that,  to  repeat 
again,  any  other  mode  of  representing  women,  or  of 
representing  anybody,  becomes,  in  juxtaposition,  a 
thing  so  void  of  the  active  contortions  of  truth  as  to 
be  comparatively  wooden.  He  bears  children  with 
Mme.  de  1'Estorade,  knows  intimately  how  she  suf- 
fers for  them,  and  not  less  intimately  how  her  corre- 
spondent suffers,  as  well  as  enjoys,  without  them.  Big 
as  he  is  he  makes  himself  small  to  be  handled  by  her 
with  young  maternal  passion  and  positively  to  handle 
her  in  turn  with  infantile  innocence.  These  things  are 
the  very  flourishes,  the  little  technical  amusements  of 
his  penetrating  power.  But  it  is  doubtless  in  his  hand 
for  such  a  matter  as  the  jealous  passion  of  Louise  de 

zlii 


Honore  de  Balzac 

Chaulieu,  the  free  play  of  her  intelligence,  and  the  al- 
most beautiful  good  faith  of  her  egotism,  that  he  is 
most  individual.  It  is  one  of  the  neatest  examples 
of  his  extraordinary  leading  gift,  his  art — which  is 
really,  moreover,  not  an  art — of  working  the  exhibi- 
tion of  a  given  character  up  to  intensity.  I  say  it  is 
not  an  art  because  it  acts  for  us  rather  as  a  hunger  on 
the  part  of  his  nature  to  take  on,  in  all  freedom,  an- 
other nature — take  it  by  a  direct  process  of  the  senses. 
Art  is  for  the  mass  of  us  who  have  only  the  process 
of  art,  comparatively  so  stiff.  The  thing  amounts 
with  him  to  a  kind  of  shameless  personal,  physical, 
not  merely  intellectual,  duality — the  very  spirit  and 
secret  of  transmigration. 

HENRY  JAMES. 


xllii 


LIFE   OF   BALZAC 


HONORE  DE  BALZAC  was  the  eldest  of  the  four  chil- 
dren  of  an  officer  in  the  commissariat,  settled  in  that 
service  at  Tours.  Here,  at  No.  jp  Rue  Royale,  the  future 
novelist  was  born  on  the  i6th  of  May,  //pp.  He  was  dull 
and  dreamy  as  a  child,  sometimes  so  absorbed  as  to  seem 
positively  comatose.  At  school  at  Venddme,  and  after- 
ward in  Tours,  he  seemed  to  make  little  intellectual  prog- 
ress. In  1814  the  family  moved  to  Paris,  and  from  1816  to 
1819  Honore  studied  the  law.  By  his  twentieth  year,  how- 
ever, the  vocation  of  letters  had  appealed  to  him  so  strong- 
ly, and  he  seemed  to  have  so  little  aptitude  for  any  other 
business,  that  his  parents  consented  to  leave  him  alone  in 
Paris  (for  the  family  now  retired  to  Villeparisis) ,  in  an 
attic  near  the  Arsenal  Library,  where  he  devoted  himself 
entirely  to  preparation  for  the  literary  life.  Between  1822 
and  1826  Balzac  produced  a  great  number  of  stories, 
extravagant  and  dull,  under  such  pseudonyms  as  "  Lord 
R'Hoone,"  "  Villergle,"  "Horace  de  St.  rAubain,"  and 
"  M.  D."  These  valueless  romances  he  sold  for  very 
small  sums  to  eke  out  the  slender  allowance  which  he 
received  from  his  father.  Balzac  was  aware  of  the 
worthlessness  of  these  productions,  and  he  set  himself t 

xlv 


Life  of  Balzac 

with  heroic  resolution,  to  begin  his  labours  over  again. 
His  genuine  works,  therefore,  start  with  the  four  vol- 
umes of  "  Le  Dernier  Chouan  "  (afterward  "  Les  Chou- 
ans"),  published  in  1829,  the  earliest  book  to  which  Bal- 
zac attached  his  name.  This  magnificent  romance  at- 
tracted some  notice,  and  the  author  was  encouraged  to 
bring  out  his  pseudo-metaphysical  essay,  the  "Physiolo- 
gic du  Manage"  and  the  collection  of  short  storiest 
"  Scenes  de  la  Vie  Privee,"  both  in  1830.  The  next  year, 
saw  the  issue  of  "  La  Peau  de  Chagrin  "  and  "  La  Mai- 
son  du  Chat-qui-Pelote"  which  enjoyed  a  decided  success, 
and  from  this  time  forth,  for  nearly  twenty  years,  Balzac 
was  engaged,  almost  without  intermission,  in  the  furious 
composition  of  stories.  It  is  impossible  to  name  here  a 
tenth  part  of  so  fertile  an  author's  most  important 
works;  to  deal  with  the  bibliography  of  Balzac  is  to 
try  to  count  the  stars  upon  a  frosty  night.  But  it  may 
be  recorded  that  the  "  Contes  Drolatiques "  began  to  be 
issued  in  1832;  that  the  "Etudes  de  Moeurs"  (which 
included  "Eugenie  Grandet"  "Les  Illusions  Perdues," 
and  "  Le  Colonel  Chabert"}  appeared  between  1834  and 
*%37'}  and  the  more  fantastic  "  Etudes  Philosophiques  " — 
among  which  are  "Louis  Lambert,"  " Seraphita,"  and 
"  Une  Passion  dans  le  Desert " — date  from  1835  to  1840. 
But  before  the  latter  date,Bahac  had  settled  down  to  more 
detailed  studies  of  contemporary  life,  beginning  in  1835 
with  "  Le  Pere  Goriot."  Among  the  splendid  novels  which 
follozved  we  can  not  omit  to  mention  "  Le  Lys  dans  la 
Vallee"  (1836),  "Cesar  Birotteau"  (1838},  "  Me- 
moires  de  Deux  Jeunes  Mariees"  (1842),  "Modesto 

xlvi 


Life  of  Balzac 

Mignon"  (1844),  "La  Cousine  Bette"  (1846),  and  " Le 
Cousin  Pons  "  (1847).  It  was  in  1842  that  Balzac's  books 
were  first  collected,  in  seventeen  volumes,  as  "  La  Come- 
die  Humaine,"  although  for  many  years  the  idea  had 
occurred  to  him  of  bringing  them  together  under  a  com- 
mon heading.  The  greater  part  of  the  extremely  labori- 
ous life  of  Balzac  was  spent  in  Paris,  and  finally  in  a 
pavilion  of  the  Hotel  Beaujon,  where  he  arranged 
around  his  writing-table  a  rich  collection  of  paintings 
and  bric-a-brac.  His  brief  periods  of  repose  were  spent 
with  his  friends,  and  there  were  in  particular  certain 
women  whose  names  will  be  always  honoured  in  con- 
nection with  his.  During  his  early  struggles  he  re- 
ceived the  most  charming  kindness  from  Madame  de 
Berny;  for  many  years  Madame  Zulma  Carraud  was 
his  sympathetic  confidante;  and  from  1833  to  the  close 
of  his  life  he  found  absolute  happiness  in  his  friendship 
with  Madame  de  Hanska.  Although  the  latter  became 
a  widow  in  1843,  difficulties  stood  in  the  way  of  her  mar- 
riage with  Balzac,  until  March,  1850,  when  they  were 
united  in  Warsaw  under  very  fortunate  conditions.  Un- 
luckily, Balzac  had  worked  too  strenuously  and  had 
postponed  happiness  too  long.  As  early  as  May  it  was 
seen  that  his  health  was  failing,  and  the  couple  hurried 
to  Paris  for  advice.  Nothing,  however,  could  stem  the 
'progress  of  heart-disease,  and  on  the  night  of  the  i8th 
of  August,  1850,  Balzac  died;  his  widow  survived  him 

until  1882. 

E.  G. 

xlvii 


TO 

GEORGE   SAND 

THIS  DEDICATION,  my  dear  George,  cart  add  nothing 
to  the  glory  of  your  name,  which  will  cast  its  magic  ray 
over  my  book.  Yet  it  argues  neither  calculation  nor  mod- 
esty on  my  part.  My  desire  is  thereby  to  attest  the  true 
friendship  which  has  endured  between  us  two,  through  all 
our  travels  and  our  partings,  in  spite  of  our  labours,  in 
spite  of  the  ill-nature  of  the  world  about  us.  This  feeling 
will  never  weaken,  I  am  sure.  The  procession  of  affec- 
tionately remembered  names  which  will  accompany  my 
works  mingles  a  pleasure  with  the  pain  their  number  has 
cost  me — for  they  all  cost  me  suffering,  if  it  were  only 
the  vituperation  my  alarming  prolificness  calls  down  upon 
me— as  though  the  world  I  picture  were  not  even  more 
fecund  yet !  Will  it  not  be  a  grand  thing,  George,  if  the 
future  antiquary,  delving,  some  fine  day,  among  dead 
literatures,  discovers  in  this  array  none  but  great  names, 
high  hearts,  friendships  holy  and  pure,  and  all  the  most 
glorious  reputations  of  this  country?  May  I  not  claim 
greater  pride  in  this  assured  good  fortune  than  in  suc- 
cesses which  are  always  subject  to  dispute?  To  any  one 
who  knows  you  well,  is  it  not  a  happiness  to  be  able  to 
call  himself,  as  I  do  here, 

Your  friend, 

DE   BALZAC. 
PARIS,  June,  1840. 


rltt 


CONTENTS 


MOM 

Honore  de  Balzac v-xliii 

Henry  James 

Life  of  Balzac xlv-xlvii 

Edmund  Gone 

Dedication xlix 

The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides      .         1-354 

Curious  unpublished  or  unknown  Por- 
traits of  Honore  de  Balzac  .     .     .     355-368 

Octave  Uzanne 


li 


THE    MEMOIRS 
OF    TWO    YOUNG    BRIDES 


THE    MEMOIRS 
OF   TWO   YOUNG   BRIDES 


PART  FIRST 


LOUISE   DE   CHAULIEU   TO   REN&E   DE   MAUCOMBE 

WELL,  my  dear!  I,  too,  have  reached  the  outer 
world,  and  if  you  haven't  written  to  me  from  Blois,  I 
am  the  first  to  keep  our  delightful  epistolary  rendez- 
vous. Now  lift  up  the  beautiful  black  eyes  you  have 
fixed  on  this  first  sentence  of  mine,  and  keep  your 
exclamations  for  the  letter  which  shall  tell  you  of  my 
first  love!  People  always  talk  about  a  first  love;  is 
there  a  second,  then?  "Hush!"  you'll  say.  "Tell 
me  rather,"  you'll  add,  "  how  you  escaped  from  the 
convent  in  which  you  were  to  have  taken  your 
vows? "  My  dear,  the  miracle  of  my  deliverance, 
though  it  did  happen  in  the  Carmelite  convent,  was 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  The  clamour 
of  a  terrified  conscience  finally  prevailed  over  the  fiat 
of  an  unwavering  policy,  and  there's  an  end.  My 
aunt,  who  did  not  choose  to  see  me  die  of  a  consump- 
tion, got  the  better  of  my  mother,  who  had  always 
prescribed  the  novitiate  as  the  one  and  only  cure  for 

Vol.  2 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

my  malady.  The  state  of  deep  melancholy  into  which 
I  fell  when  you  departed  hastened  this  happy  solution. 
And  I  am  in  Paris,  my  dearest,  and  I  am  in  all  the 
delight  of  being  there!  My  Renee,  if  you  could  have 
seen  me,  that  day,  when  I  found  myself  all  alone,  you 
would  have  been  proud  of  having  inspired  so  deep  a 
feeling  in  so  young  a  heart!  We  have  dreamt  so 
many  dreams  in  company,  we  have  spread  our  wings 
so  often,  and  lived  so  much  together,  that  I  believe 
our  souls  are  welded  one  to  the  other  just  like  those 
two  Hungarian  girls,  whose  death-story  was  told  us 
by  M.  Beauvisage,  who  certainly  wasn't  like  his  name 
— never  was  convent  doctor  better  chosen!  Were 
you  not  ill,  too,  when  your  darling  fell  sick?  In 
my  state  of  gloomy  depression,  I  could  only  recog- 
nise, each  in  its  turn,  the  bonds  that  make  us  one. 
I  fancied  separation  had  broken  them.  I  loathed  ex- 
istence like  some  widowed  turtle-dove.  The  thought 
of  death  was  sweet  to  me,  and  I  really  was  dying  softly 
away.  To  be  left  alone  at  the  Carmelite  convent  at 
Blois,  tortured  by  the  fear  of  having  to  take  the  veil, 
without  Mile,  de  la  Valliere's  previous  experience, 
and  without  my  Renee,  that  was  illness,  indeed — a 
mortal  sickness!  The  monotonous  round  in  which 
each  hour  brings  a  duty,  a  labour,  or  a  prayer,  all  so 
precisely  alike  that  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night 
any  one  may  know  exactly  what  a  Carmelite  nun  must 
be  doing — that  hateful  life,  in  which  it  matters  not 
whether  the  things  about  us  exist  or  not — had  grown 
full  of  variety  to  us.  The  flight  of  our  imagination 

4 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

knew  no  limit.  On  us  fancy  had  bestowed  the  key 
of  all  her  realms.  Each  of  us  in  turn  was  the  other's 
winged  steed.  The  liveliest  stirred  the  dullest  pulses 
of  the  other,  and  our  fancy  frolicked  at  will,  in  undis- 
turbed possession  of  that  outer  world  which  was  for- 
bidden us. 

Even  the  lives  of  the  saints  helped  us  to  under- 
stand the  things  most  carefully  hidden  from  us.  The 
day  which  robbed  me  of  your  sweet  company  saw  me 
become  that  which  we  know  a  Carmelite  to  be — a 
modern  Danaid,  whose  task  does  not,  indeed,  consist 
in  filling  a  bottomless  cask,  but  who  daily  draws,  out 
of  some  hidden  well,  an  empty  bucket  on  the  unceas- 
ing rope  that  she  may  find  it  full.  My  aunt  knew  of 
our  inner  life.  To  her,  who  had  made  herself  a  heaven 
of  happiness  within  the  two  acres  encircled  by  her  con- 
vent walls,  my  loathing  of  existence  was  inexplicable. 
The  girl  who,  at  our  age,  embraces  the  religious  life, 
must  either  possess  an  excessive  simplicity  (which  we, 
my  dear  creature,  cannot  claim)  or  else  that  passion 
of  devotion  which  makes  my  aunt  so  noble  a  figure. 
My  aunt  sacrificed  herself  to  a  brother  whom  she 
adored;  but  what  girl  can  sacrifice  herself  to  people 
she  doesn't  even  know,  or  to  an  idea? 

For  almost  a  fortnight,  now,  I  have  been  keeping 
back  so  many  hasty  remarks,  and  burying  so  many 
meditations  deep  in  my  heart,  I  have  so  many  things 
to  say,  so  many  stories  to  tell,  which  I  can  confide  to 
none  but  you,  that  but  for  this  makeshift  plan  of  writ- 
ing you  my  confidences,  and  thus  replacing  our  bc- 

5 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

loved  talks,  I  really  should  choke!  How  indispen- 
sable is  the  life  of  the  affections.  This  morning  I  be- 
gin this  journal  of  mine,  fancying  that  yours,  too,  is 
begun,  and  that  in  a  few  days  I  shall  live  in  the  depths 
of  your  beautiful  valley  at  Gemenos,  of  which  I  know 
only  what  you  have  told  me,  just  as  you  will  live  in 
Paris,  of  which  you  know  nothing  but  what  we  used 
to  dream  together. 

Well,  my  sweet  child,  on  a  morning  which  will 
always  be  written  in  rose-colour  in  the  book  of  my 
life,  a  demoiselle  de  compagnie  and  my  grandmother's 
last  man-servant,  Philippe,  arrived  from  Paris  to  es- 
cort me  back.  When  my  aunt  sent  for  me  to  her 
room  and  told  me  this  piece  of  news,  my  joy  quite 
struck  me  dumb  and  I  stared  stupidly  at  her. 

"  My  child,"  said  she  in  her  guttural  voice,  "  it 
is  no  grief  to  you  to  leave  me,  I  can  see  that.  But 
this  farewell  is  not  our  last.  We  shall  meet  again. 
God  has  set  the  mark  of  the  elect  upon  your  forehead. 
You  have  the  pride  which  either  leads  a  woman  up 
to  heaven  or  down  to  hell.  But  you  have  too  much 
nobility  in  you  to  sink.  I  know  you  better  than  you 
know  yourself.  Passion,  in  your  case,  will  not  be 
what  it  is  to  the  common  run  of  women." 

She  drew  me  gently  towards  her,  and  kissed  me 
on  the  forehead,  so  that  T  could  feel  the  fire  that  con- 
sumes her — that  has  blackened  the  azure  of  her  eyes 
and  weighted  her  eye-lids,  lined  her  smooth  temples, 
and  sallowed  her  beautiful  face.  It  made  my  flesh 
creep.  Before  I  answered  her,  I  kissed  her  hands. 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Then  I  said:  "  Dear  aunt,  since  your  adorable  good- 
ness has  not  made  your  Paraclete  seem  either  healthy 
to  my  body  or  dear  to  my  heart,  I  must  shed  so  many 
tears  before  I  came  back,  that  you  could  hardly  wish 
for  my  return.  I  never  will  come  back,  unless  my 
Louis  XIV  betrays  me.  And  if  I  once  lay  my  hand 
on  one,  nothing  but  Death  shall  take  him  from  me. 
No  Montespan  shall  frighten  me!  " 

"  Hush,  giddy  child,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 
"  You  must  not  leave  those  vain  thoughts  here  be- 
hind you.  Take  them  away  with  you,  and  know  that 
there  is  more  of  the  Montespan  than  of  the  La  Val- 
liere  in  your  composition." 

I  kissed  her.  The  poor  soul  could  not  resist  com- 
ing with  me  to  the  carriage,  and  her  eyes  wandered 
backward  and  forward  between  the  family  coat  of 
arms  and  me. 

At  Beaugency  night  overtook  me,  still  lost  in  the 
moral  stupor  caused  by  this  strange  farewell.  What 
is  my  destiny  in  this  outer  world  for  which  I  have  so 
greatly  longed?  In  the  first  place,  I  found  nobody 
to  meet  me.  The  demonstrations  of  affection  I  had 
prepared  were  all  wasted.  My  mother  was  at  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  my  father  was  at  the  Council- 
board.  My  brother,  the  Due  de  Rhetore,  never 
comes  in,  I  am  told,  except  to  dress  before  dinner. 
Miss  Griffiths  (she  has  claws)  and  Philippe  showed 
me  to  my  rooms. 

These  rooms  belonged  to  that  beloved  grand- 
mother, the  Princess  de  Vauremont,  to  whom  I  owe  a 

7 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

fortune  of  some  kind,  which  nobody  has  mentioned  to 
me.  As  you  read  these  words,  you  will  share  the  sad- 
ness that  overwhelmed  me  when  I  entered  the  apart- 
ments hallowed  to  me  by  so  many  memories.  They 
remained  just  as  she  had  left  them.  I  was  to  sleep 
in  the  very  bed  in  which  she  died.  I  sat  down 
on  the  edge  of  her  sofa,  and  burst  into  tears,  quite 
forgetting  that  I  was  not  alone.  How  often,  I 
thought,  I  had  knelt  here  beside  her — so  as  to  catch 
her  words  more  easily — and  from  this  couch  had 
watched  her  face,  half  hidden  amid  yellowish  laces, 
and  worn  as  much  by  age  as  by  the  sufferings  of  ap- 
proaching death!  The  room  still  seemed  full  of  the 
warmth  she  had  always  kept  up  in  it.  How  comes  it, 
thought  I,  that  Mile.  Armande  Louise  Marie  de 
Chaulieu  is  obliged,  like  any  peasant,  to  sleep  in  her 
grandmother's  bed  almost  on  the  day  of  her  death? 
For  to  me  it  seemed  that  the  Princess,  who  had  really 
passed  away  in  1817,  had  died  only  on  the  previous 
night.  There  were  things  in  this  room  which  should 
not  have  been  there,  and  which  proved  how  careless 
people  taken  up  with  the  affairs  of  the  kingdom  are 
apt  to  be  about  their  own,  and  how  little  thought  was 
given,  once  she  was  dead,  to  the  noble-hearted  woman 
who  will  always  remain  one  of  the  great  feminine  fig- 
ures of  the  eighteenth  century.  Philippe  had  an  ink- 
ling of  the  cause  of  my  tears.  He  told  me  the  Princess 
had  left  me  all  her  furniture,  and  also  that  my  father 
had  left  the  great  reception  rooms  in  the  condition 
into  which x  they  had  fallen  during  the  Revolution. 

8 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Then  I  rose  to  my  feet,  Philippe  opened  the  door  of 
the  small  drawing-room  leading  into  the  saloons,  and 
I  found  them  in  the  state  of  complete  ruin  I  recol- 
lected. Above  the  doors  the  empty  panels,  once 
filled  by  valuable  pictures,  still  gape;  the  marble  fig- 
ures are  all  smashed,  the  looking-glasses  have  been 
carried  off.  In  the  old  days  I  used  to  dread  going 
up  the  great  stair-case  and  crossing  the  huge  lonely, 
lofty  rooms,  and  I  used  to  pass  to  the  Princess's 
apartment  by  a  small  stair-case  which  runs  under  the 
hollow  of  the  great  one,  and  leads  to  the  wainscot 
door  of  her  dressing-room. 

The  apartment,  consisting  of  a  sitting-room,  a 
bed-room,  and  that  pretty  vermilion  and  gold  dress- 
ing-room of  which  I  have  often  spoken  to  you,  is  in 
the  wing  that  lies  towards  the  Invalides.  The  house  is 
only  separated  from  the  boulevard  by  a  creeper-cov- 
ered wall,  and  by  a  splendid  double  row  of  trees,  whose 
foliage  mingles  with  that  of  the  elms  on  the  side  of  the 
boulevard.  But  for  the  gold  and  blue  dome  and  the 
gray  outlines  of  the  Invalides  one  might  fancy  one's 
self  in  a  forest.  The  style  of  these  three  rooms  and 
their  position  marks  them  as  having  formed  the  old 
state  apartments  of  the  Duchess  of  Chaulieu.  Those  of 
the  Duke  must  have  been  in  the  opposite  wing.  The 
two  are  decently  parted  by  the  principal  building  and 
by  the  front  wing,  which  contains  those  great  dark,  re- 
sounding rooms,  which,  as  Philippe  had  shown  me, 
are  still  stripped  of  their  splendour,  and  just  as  I  used 
to  see  them  in  my  childish  days.  When  Philippe  per- 

9 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

ceived  the  astonishment  depicted  on  my  countenance 
he  took  on  a  confidential  air.  "  In  this  diplomatic 
household,  my  dear,  every  servant  is  mysterious  and 
discreet."  He  informed  me  that  the  passing  of  a  law 
which  was  to  restore  the  value  of  their  property  to 
the  emigre  families  was  shortly  expected.  My  father 
is  putting  off  the  decoration  of  his  house  till  that 
restitution  is  made.  The  King's  architect  has  cal- 
culated the  expense  at  three  hundred  thousand  francs. 
The  result  of  this  confidence  was  to  send  me  back 
to  my  sofa  in  the  drawing-room.  What!  Then  my 
father,  instead  of  using  this  sum  of  money  for  my 
dowry,  would  have  let  me  die  in  a  convent?  This 
was  the  thought  that  struck  me  on  the  threshold  of 
that  door.  Ah,  Renee!  how  I  did  lean  my  head 
against  your  shoulder,  and  how  my  mind  went  back 
to  the  days  when  my  grandmother's  presence  filled 
these  two  rooms  with  life!  She,  who  lives  nowhere 
now,  save  in  my  heart,  and  you,  who  are  at  Mau- 
combe,  two  hundred  leagues  away  from  me,  are  the 
only  two  human  beings  who  love,  or  ever  have  loved 
me!  That  dear  old  lady  with  the  young  eyes  de- 
lighted to  be  roused  in  the  mornings  by  my  voice. 
How  we  understood  each  other!  The  memory  of  her 
brought  a  sudden  change  in  the  feelings  I  had  first 
experienced.  That  which  had  seemed  a  profanation 
now  appeared  to  me  something  almost  holy!  It  was 
sweet  to  me,  now,  to  breathe  the  vague  odour  oi 
Poudre  a  la  Marechale  that  hung  about  the  room.  It 
would  be  sweet  to  sleep  under  the  protecting  yellow 

10 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

satin  curtains  with  their  white  pattern,  in  which  her 
eyes  and  her  breath  must  surely  have  left  something 
of  herself.  I  told  Philippe  to  restore  their  bright  pol- 
ish to  the  bits  of  old  furniture  and  to  impart  a  look 
of  habitation  to  my  rooms.  I  showed  him  myself 
how  I  wished  things  to  be  arranged,  pointing  out 
where  each  piece  of  furniture  should  stand.  I  looked 
over  everything,  and  took  formal  possession,  explain- 
ing how  he  was  to  freshen  up  the  antique  things  which 
are  so  dear  to  me.  The  decoration  of  the  room  is  all 
white,  somewhat  dimmed  by  time,  and  the  gilding  of 
the  fanciful  arabesques  shows  a  touch  of  red  here  and 
there.  But  this  is  all  in  harmony  with  the  faded  tints 
of  the  Savonnerie  carpet,  given  to  my  grandmother, 
with  his  own  portrait,  by  Louis  XV.  The  clock  was 
a  present  from  the  Marechal  de  Saxe,  the  china  on 
the  chimney-piece  a  gift  from  the  Marechal  de  Riche- 
lieu. My  grandmother's  picture,  painted  when  she 
was  five-and-twenty,  hangs  in  an  oval  frame  facing 
the  King's  portrait.  There  is  no  picture  of  the 
Prince.  I  like  this  frank  omission,  which,  in  a  flash, 
without  a  touch  of  hypocrisy  in  it,  depicts  her  fas- 
cinating personality.  Once,  when  my  aunt  was  very 
ill,  her  confessor  pressed  her  to  allow  the  Prince,  who 
was  waiting  in  the  drawing-room,  to  enter  the  sick- 
room. 

"  With  the  doctor  and  his  prescriptions,"  said  my 
grandmother. 

Over  the  bed  there  is  a  canopy,  the  bed-head  is 
padded,  and  the  curtains  looped  up  in  fine  ample 

ii 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

folds.  The  furniture  is  of  gilt  wood,  covered  with 
the  same  yellow  damask,  patterned  with  white  flow- 
ers, of  which  the  window  hangings  are  made,  and 
which  is  lined  with  a  white  silken  material  something 
like  moire.  I  do  not  know  who  painted  the  panels 
over  the  doors,  but  they  represent  a  sunrise  and  a 
moonlight  effect.  The  chimney-piece  is  treated  in  a 
very  peculiar  style.  It  is  clear  that  in  those  days 
people  spent  a  great  deal  of  their  time  at  their  own 
firesides.  All  sorts  of  important  events  took  place 
there.  The  fire-place,  all  of  gilt  bronze,  is  a  wonder- 
ful bit  of  work;  the  chimney-piece  itself  is  exquisitely 
finished,  the  shovel  and  tongs  are  beautifully  mod- 
elled, the  bellows  are  quite  lovely.  The  tapestry  in 
the  fire-screen  comes  from  the  Gobelins  works,  and  it 
is  exquisitely  mounted.  'Hie  merry  figures  that  run 
along  the  outline,  the  feet,  the  cross-bar  of  the  frame, 
are  all  enchanting;  the  whole  is  carried  out  as  care- 
fully as  if  it  had  been  for  a  fan.  Who  gave  her  that 
pretty  bit  of  furniture,  of  which  she  was  so  fond?  I 
wish  I  knew.  How  often  have  I  seen  her,  with  her 
foot  on  that  cross-bar,  leaning  back  in  her  easy  chair, 
her  gown  lifted  half-way  up  to  her  knee  by  her  pos- 
ture, taking  up  her  snuff-box,  laying  it  down,  and 
then  taking  it  up  again  from  its  place  on  the  shelf 
between  her  bonbonniere  and  her  silk  mittens.  What 
a  coquette  she  was!  Till  the  day  of  her  death  she 
took  as  much  care  of  her  person  as  if  it  were  still  the 
morrow  of  the  time  when  that  beautiful  picture  had 
been  painted,  and  as  if  she  were  still  expecting  the 

12 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

flower  of  the  Court  to  gather  round  her.  That  easy 
chair  made  me  think  of  the  inimitable  wave  she  would 
give  her  skirts  as  she  dropped  into  it.  The  women 
of  that  period  have  carried  away  with  them  certain 
characteristic  secrets  peculiar  to  their  times.  The 
Princess  had  a  way  of  moving  her  head  and  a  way  of 
dropping  her  words  and  her  glances,  and  a  particu- 
lar fashion  of  speech,  especially,  which  I  never  was 
able  to  discover  in  my  own  mother.  It  was  both 
clever  and  good-natured;  there  was  purpose  in  it,  but 
there  was  no  affectation.  Her  conversation  was  at 
once  prolix  and  laconic;  she  could  tell  a  story  well, 
and  she  could  sketch  a  thing  in  half  a  dozen  words. 
Above  all,  she  had  that  excessive  breadth  of  judg- 
ment which  has  certainly  influenced  my  own  turn  of 
mind.  From  my  sixth  year  to  my  tenth  I  spent  my 
life  in  her  pocket — she  was  as  fond  of  having  me  with 
her  as  I  was  of  going  to  her.  This  fondness  gave  rise 
to  more  than  one  quarrel  between  her  and  my  mother. 
Nothing  fans  a  sentiment  like  the  ice-cold  wind  of 
persecution.  What  a  charm  there  was  in  the  way  sHe 
would  say  to  me,  "  Here  you  are,  little  witch!  "  when, 
curious  as  any  snake,  I  had  slipped  through  doorway 
after  doorway  to  reach  her  rooms.  She  felt  I  loved 
her,  and  she  loved  my  artless  love,  which  brought  a 
ray  of  sunshine  to  her  winter  days.  I  don't  know 
what  went  on  in  her  rooms  at  night,  but  she  had  a 
great  many  visitors.  In  the  mornings,  when  I  crept 
tip-toe  to  see  if  her  windows  were  open,  I  used  to  find 
the  furniture  in  her  drawing-room  all  pushed  hither 

13 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

and  thither,  card-tables  set,  and  snuff  lying  here  and 
there  in  heaps.  The  drawing-room  is  in  much  the 
same  style  as  the  bed-room.  The  furniture  is  of  curi- 
ous shapes,  with  deeply  moulded  wood-work  and  claw 
feet.  Wreaths  of  flowers,  richly  carved  and  finely 
modelled,  twine  across  the  mirrors  and  hang  in  fes- 
toons along  their  edges.  On  the  marble  tables  there 
are  beautiful  Chinese  vases.  The  prevailing  shades 
in  the  furniture  and  hangings  are  poppy-colour  and 
white.  My  grandmother  was  a  stately  and  striking 
brunette.  Her  complexion  accounts  for  her  favour- 
ite colours.  In  the  drawing-room  I  found  a  writing- 
table,  the  figures  on  which  used  to  keep  my  eyes  very 
busy  in  the  old  days.  It  is  adorned  with  chiselled 
silver  plaques,  and  was  given  her  by  one  of  the  Gen- 
oese Lomellini.  Each  side  of  this  table  represents 
the  occupations  appropriate  to  one  of  the  four  sea- 
sons. The  figures  are  all  in  relief,  there  are  hundreds 
of  them  in  each  scene.  I  spent  two  hours  quite  alone, 
gathering  up  my  memories,  one  by  one,  in  the  sacred 
precincts  within  which  one  of  the  most  famous 
women,  both  for  beauty  and  for  wit,  at  the  Court  of 
Louis  XV,  breathed  her  last  sigh.  You  know  how 
suddenly  I  was  parted  from  her  in  1816. 

"  Go  and  say  good-bye  to  your  grandmother," 
said  my  mother  to  rne. 

I  found  the  Princess  not  at  all  surprised,  but  ap- 
parently unmoved  by  my  departure.  "  You  are  going 
to  the  convent,  my  treasure,"  she  said.  "  You'll  see 
your  aunt  there — a  most  excellent  woman.  I'll  take 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

care  you  are  not  sacrificed;  you  shall  be  independent, 
and  able  to  marry  whomsoever  you  may  choose." 

Six  months  later  she  was  dead.  She  had  given 
her  will  into  the  keeping  of  one  of  her  most  trusted 
friends,  the  Prince  de  Talleyrand,  who  contrived, 
when  he  came  to  see  Mile,  de  Chargebceuf,  to  let  me 
know,  through  her,  that  my  grandmother  forbade  me 
to  take  religious  vows.  I  very  much  hope  that  sooner 
or  later  I  may  meet  the  Prince,  and  then,  no  doubt, 
he  will  tell  me  more. 

So,  my  dear,  though  I  found  nobody  waiting  to 
greet  me,  I  consoled  myself  with  the  shade  of  my  dear 
Princess,  and  I  set  myself  to  fulfil  one  of  our  agree/- 
ments,  which — do  you  remember  it? — was  that  we 
should  mutually  inform  each  other  of  the  tiniest  de- 
tails concerning  our  dwellings  and  our  lives.  It  is  so 
sweet  to  know  the  where  and  how  of  the  existence  of 
the  beloved  being!  So  be  sure  you  describe  all  the 
very  smallest  matters  about  you,  every  single  thing, 
even  to  the  effects  of  the  sunset  among  the  tall  trees! 

October  loth. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  I  ar- 
rived. Towards  half  past  five  Rose  came  to  tell  me  my 
mother  had  returned,  and  I  went  downstairs  to  pay 
her  my  respects.  My  mother's  rooms  are  on  the 
ground  floor;  they  are  planned  just  like  mine,  and  are 
in  the  same  wing.  I  live  just  above  her,  and  we  have 
the  same  private  stair-case.  My  father  lives  in  the 
opposite  wing.  But  as  he  has  all  the  space  on  the 

15 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

court-yard  side,  which  in  our  case  is  taken  up  by  the 
grand  stair-case,  his  rooms  are  much  larger  than  ours. 
In  spite  of  the  social  duties  incumbent  on  the  position 
to  which  the  return  of  the  Bourbons  has  restored  my 
parents,  they  still  continue  living  on  the  ground  floor, 
and  are  able  to  entertain  there,  so  roomy  are  the 
houses  built  by  our  forefathers.  I  found  my  mother 
in  her  own  drawing-room,  in  which  nothing  has  been 
altered.  As  I  went  down  the  stairs  I  kept  asking  my- 
self how  this  woman,  who  has  been  so  little  of  a 
mother  to  me  that  in  eight  years  she  has  only  writ- 
ten me  two  letters  you  wot  of,  would  receive  me. 
Thinking  it  unworthy  of  myself  to  simulate  a  tender- 
ness I  could  not  feel,  I  had  composed  my  countenance 
after  the  fashion  of  a  silly  nun,  and  when  I  entered 
her  room  I  felt,  inwardly,  exceedingly  embarrassed. 
This  shyness  soon  passed  away.  My  mother  was  per- 
fectly charming.  She  made  no  pretence  of  sham 
tenderness.  She  was  not  cold;  she  did  not  treat  me 
as  if  I  had  been  her  best  beloved  daughter. 

She  welcomed  me  as  though  we  had  only  parted 
the  night  before.  She  was  the  gentlest,  the  frankest 
of  friends.  She  spoke  to  me  as  to  a  grown-up  woman, 
and  began  by  kissing  me  on  the  forehead. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  said.  "  If  you  are  to  die  of 
your  convent,  you  had  much  better  come  and  live 
with  us.  You  have  upset  your  father's  plans  and 
mine,  but  the  days  of  blind  obedience  to  parents  are 
gone  by.  M.  de  Chaulieu's  intention,  with  which  mine 
agrees,  is  that  nothing  shall  be  left  undone  which  can 

16 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

make  your  life  pleasant  and  enable  you  to  see  me 
world.  At  your  age,  I  should  have  thought  as  you 
do.  So  I  have  no  feeling  against  you  on  that  score: 
you  are  not  capable  of  understanding  what  we  asked 
of  you.  You  will  not  find  any  absurd  severity  in 
me.  If  you  have  doubted  my  affection  you  will  soon 
find  out  you  were  mistaken.  Though  I  intend  to 
leave  you  in  perfect  freedom,  I  thiiik  you  will  do 
wisely  to  listen,  at  first,  to  the  advice  of  a  mother 
who  will  treat  you  as  if  you  were  her  sister." 

The  Duchess  spoke  in  a  soft  voice,  and  as  she 
talked  she  straightened  my  school-girl's  cape.  She 
fascinated  me.  She  is  eight-and-thirty,  and  she  is  an 
angel  of  beauty.  She  has  blue  eyes  that  are  almost 
black,  eye-lashes  like  silk,  not  a  line  on  her  forehead, 
her  skin  so  pink  and  white  you  would  fancy  she 
painted,  wonderful  shoulders  and  bust,  a  waist  as 
slight  and  well  curved  as  your  own;  an  extraordinarily 
beautiful  hand,  as  white  as  milk;  finger-nails  that  hold 
the  light,  they  are  so  polished;  her  little  finger  a  little 
separate  from  the  other  four,  her  thumb  as  smooth 
as  ivory.  And  then  she  has  a  foot  to  match  her  hand 
-—the  Spanish  foot  of  Mile,  de  Vandenesse.  If  she  is 
like  this  at  forty,  she  will  be  beautiful  still,  at  sixty. 

I  answered  her,  my  dear,  as  a  submissive  daughter 
should.  I  was  all  she  had  been  to  me,  and  I  was  better 
still.  Her  beauty  had  conquered  me;  I  forgave  her  for 
forsaking  me.  I  realized  that  such  a  woman  had  been 
swept  off  her  feet  by  her  queenly  position.  I  said  all 
this  to  her,  simply,  as  though  I  had  been  talking  to 

17 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

you.  Perhaps  she  had  not  expected  to  hear  words  of 
affection  from  her  daughter's  lips.  The  tribute  of  my 
honest  admiration  touched  her  deeply,  her  mannef 
changed  and  grew  even  more  gracious;  she  dropped 
the  second  person  plural. 

"  You  are  a  good  child,"  she  said,  "  and  I  hope  we 
shall  continue  friends." 

The  words  struck  me  as  being  exquisitely  artless. 
I  would  not  have  her  see  how  I  took  them,  for  I  real- 
ized at  once  that  I  must  let  her  think  she  has  much 
more  wit  and  cleverness  than  her  daughter.  So  I 
played  the  ninny,  and  she  was  delighted  with  me.  I 
kissed  her  hands  several  times  over,  saying  how  happy 
I  was  at  her  treating  me  in  this  way,  that  I  felt  quite 
relieved,  and  I  even  confessed  my  terrors  to  her.  She 
smiled,  and  put  her  arm  round  my  neck  with  an  affec- 
tionate gesture  to  draw  me  close  to  her,  and  kiss  me 
on  the  forehead. 

"  Dear  child,"  she  said,  "  we  have  company  to 
dinner  to-day.  I  dare  say  you'll  agree  with  me  that 
you  had  better  not  make  your  appearance  in  society 
until  the  dressmaker  has  made  you  some  clothes;  so, 
after  you  have  seen  your  father  and  your  brother,  you 
had  better  go  back  to  your  own  rooms." 

To  this  arrangement  I  agreed  with  all  my  heart. 
My  mother's  exquisite  gown  was  my  first  revelation 
of  the  world  of  which  we  had  glimpses  in  our  dreams. 
But  I  did  not  feel  the  slightest  touch  of  jealousy. 

My  father  entered  the  room. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  Duchesse,  "  this  is  your  daughter." 
18 


The  Memoirs  of   Two  Young  Brides 

My  father  suddenly  became  quite  tender  in  his 
manner  to  me.  So  perfectly  did  he  play  the  father's 
part,  that  I  believed  he  felt  it. 

"  So  here  you  are,  unruly  daughter,"  he  cried, 
taking  my  two  hands  in  his  and  kissing  them  in  a  way 
that  was  more  gallant  than  paternal.  Then  he  drew 
me  close,  put  his  arm  round  my  waist  and  clasped  me 
to  him,  kissing  my  cheeks  and  forehead. 

"  You'll  make  up  for  the  sorrow  your  change  of 
vocation  has  caused  us  by  the  pleasure  your  success 
in  society  will  bring  us. 

"  Do  you  know,  Madame,  she  is  very  pretty,  and 
some  day  you  may  be  proud  of  her.  Here's  your 
brother  Rhetore.  .  .  .  Alphonse,"  said  he  to  a  good- 
looking  young  man  who  had  just  come  in,  "  here's 
your  nun-sister  who  wants  to  cast  off  her  habit." 

My  brother  came  forward  in  a  very  leisurely  fash- 
ion, took  my  hand  and  shook  it. 

"  Why  don't  you  kiss  her?  "  said  the  Duke.  And 
he  kissed  me  on  each  cheek. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  sister,"  he  said,  "  and 
I'm  on  your  side  against  my  father." 

I  thanked  him,  but  I  think  he  might  have  come 
to  Blois,  when  he  used  to  go  to  Orleans  to  see  our 
brother,  the  Marquis,  in  his  quarters  there.  Fearing 
strangers  might  appear,  I  beat  a  retreat.  I  settled  a 
few  things  in  my  own  room  and  laid  out  all  I  needed 
for  writing  to  you  on  the  red  velvet  top  of  my  beauti- 
ful table,  pondering,  meanwhile,  over  my  new  sur- 
roundings. 

«9 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Thus,  first  and  last,  dearest  love,  has  come  to  pass 
the  return  of  the  eighteen-year-old  daughter  oLone  of 
the  greatest  families  in  France  to  the  bosom  of  her 
kindred,  after  an  absence  lasting  some  nine  years. 
The  journey  had  tired  me,  and  so  had  the  emotions 
of  this  family  meeting.  Wherefore  I  sought  my  bed, 
just  as  I  should  have  sought  it  in  the  convent,  as  soon 
as  I  had  eaten  my  supper.  They  have  even  kept  the 
little  Dresden  knife  and  fork  and  spoon  my  dear  old 
Princess  used  whenever  she  took  it  into  her  head  to 
have  a  meal  served  to  her  apart,  in  her  own  rooms. 


20 


II 

FROM  THE  SAME  TO  THE  SAME 

Novem&fr  2^th. 

THE  next  morning  I  found  my  rooms  had  been 
set  in  order  and  prepared  for  me  by  old  Philippe,  who 
had  put  flowers  into  all  the  vases,  so  I  settled  down  at 
last.  But  it  had  never  occurred  to  anybody  that  a 
school-girl  from  the  Carmelite  convent  was  likely  to 
feel  hungry  early  in  the  morning,  and  Rose  had  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  getting  me  some  breakfast. 

"  Mademoiselle  went  to  bed  just  when  dinner  was 
being  served,  and  she  got  up  just  after  her  father  had 
come  home/*  she  said. 

I  sat  down  to  write.  Towards  one  o'clock  my 
father  knocked  at  the  door  of  my  little  sitting-room 
and  asked  if  he  might  come  in.  I  opened  the  door,  he 
entered  and  found  me  writing  to  you. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  you  have  to  buy  your 
clothes  and  settle  down  here.  In  this  purse  you  will 
find  twelve  thousand  francs.  That  represents  one 
year  of  the  income  I  shall  allow  you  for  your  personal 
expenses.  You  must  settle  with  your  mother  about 
engaging  a  governess  who  will  suit  you,  if  you  do 
not  care  about  Miss  Griffiths,  for  Madame  de  Chaulieu 

21 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

will  not  have  time  to  go  out  with  you  in  the  mornings. 
You  will  have  a  carriage  and  a  servant  at  your  orders." 

"  Let  me  keep  Philippe,"  I  said. 

"  So  be  it,"  he  answered.  "  But  do  not  worry 
yourself,  your  own  fortune  is  large  enough  to  prevent 
your  being  a  burden  either  to  your  mother  or  to  me." 

"  Should  I  be  taking  a  liberty  if  I  asked  you  to  tell 
me  the  amount  of  my  fortune?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,  my  child,"  he  replied.  "  Your 
grandmother  left  you  five  hundred  thousand  francs. 
These  were  her  savings,  for  she  would  not  rob  her 
family  of  a  single  foot  of  land.  The  money  was  in- 
vested in  the  Grand  Livre;  the  interest  has  accumu- 
lated, and  it  now  brings  in  about  forty  thousand  francs 
a  year.  I  had  intended  to  apply  this  sum  to  settling 
a  fortune  on  your  second  brother,  and  you  have  great- 
ly upset  my  plans.  But  in  time,  perhaps,  you  will 
agree  to  them.  I  shall  depend  on  you  for  everything. 
You  seem  to  me  far  more  sensible  than  I  had  thought. 
There  is  no  need  for  me  to  tell  you  how  a  Demoi- 
selle de  Chaulieu  should  conduct  herself.  The  pride 
stamped  on  your  features  gives  me  full  security  as  to 
that.  Among  us,  such  precautions  as  are  taken  with 
regard  to  their  daughters  by  smaller  folk  would  be 
insulting.  Any  light  word  spoken  about  you  might 
cost  the  life  of  the  person  who  dared  to  utter  it,  or 
that  of  one  of  your  own  brothers,  if  Heaven  should 
prove  unjust.  I  will  say  no  more  to  you  on  that 
head.  Farewell,  dear  child!  " 

He  kissed  me  on  the  forehead  and  departed.  The 
22 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

thing  I  cannot  explain  to  myself  is  that  after  having 
persevered  in  it  for  nine  years  he  should  have  aban- 
doned his  plan.  I  like  the  straightforwardness  with 
which  my  father  spoke.  There  was  nothing  ambig- 
uous in  what  he  said.  My  fortune  is  intended  for  his 
son,  the  Marquis.  Who  has  shown  pity  on  me,  then? 
Was  it  my  mother?  Was  it  my  father?  Can  it  have 
been  my  brother? 

There  I  sat  on  my  grandmother's  sofa,  staring  at 
the  purse  my  father  had  left  on  the  mantel-piece,  at 
once  pleased,  and  yet  displeased,  with  an  attention 
which  had  attracted  my  mind  to  a  question  of  money. 

It's  true,  indeed,  that  I  need  not  think  about  it 
any  more.  My  doubts  are  cleared  up,  and  there  was 
something  fine  in  the  way  he  spared  me  all  hurt  to  my 
pride  in  connection  with  the  subject.  Philippe  has 
spent  the  day  going  about  to  the  different  shops  and 
tradesmen  who  are  to  undertake  my  metamorphosis. 
A  famous  dressmaker  of  the  name  of  Victorine  has 
been  with  me,  as  well  as  a  linghe.  I  am  as  impa- 
tient as  a  child  to  know  what  I  shall  be  like  when 
I  have  cast  off  the  sack  in  which  the  regulation  cos- 
tume of  our  convent  has  hitherto  enveloped  us.  But 
all  these  people  expect  to  be  allowed  a  great  deal 
of  time.  The  stay-maker  says  he  must  have  a  week 
if  I  don't  want  to  spoil  my  figure.  So  I  have  a  fig- 
ure! This  grows  serious.  Janssen,  the  shoemaker 
to  the  Opera,  has  positively  assured  me  I  have  my 
mother's  foot.  I  have  spent  my  whole  morning  over 
these  important  matters.  I  have  even  seen  a  glove- 

23 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

maker,  who  came  to  take  the  measure  of  my  hand.  I 
have  given  my  orders  to  the  lingere.  At  my  dinner- 
time, which  was  that  of  the  family  lunch,  my  mother 
told  me  we  were  to  go  together  to  the  milliner's,  so  as 
to  form  my  taste,  and  teach  me  how  to  order  my  own 
bonnets.  This  beginning  of  my  independence  makes 
me  feel  as  giddy  as  a  blind  man  who  has  just  recovered 
his  sight.  I  can  judge  now  of  what  a  Carmelite  is  like 
beside  a  society  girl.  The  difference  is  so  great  that 
\ve  could  never  have  conceived  it.  During  lunch  my 
father  was  very  absent,  and  we  left  him  to  his  own 
thoughts;  he  is  much  mixed  up  with  all  the  King's 
secrets.  He  had  utterly  forgotten  me;  he  will  only 
remember  me  when  I  happen  to  be  necessary  to  him — 
that  I  saw  clearly.  In  spite  of  his  fifty  years,  my  father 
is  a  most  attractive  man.  His  figure  is  young,  he  is 
well  built,  fair;  his  appearance  and  ways  are  charming. 
He  has  the  face  of  a  true  diplomat,  speaking  and  silent 
at  once.  His  nose  is  slight  and  delicate;  his  eyes  are 
dark.  What  a  good-looking  couple  they  are!  How 
many  strange  thoughts  crowded  upon  me  then,  when  I 
clearly  perceived  that  these  two  beings — each  of  them 
noble,  rich,  and  cast  in  a  superior  mould — never  live 
together,  have  nothing  in  common  but  their  name, 
and  yet  keep  up  an  appearance  of  union  before  the 
world.  Yesterday  the  elite  of  the  Court  and  diplomatic 
body  were  in  the  house.  In  a  few  days  I  am  to  go  to 
a  ball  given  by  the  Duchesse  de  Manfrigneuse,  and 
shall  be  presented  in  that  society  I  so  greatly  long  to 
know.  I  am  to  have  a  dancing-master  every  morning. 

24 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

I  must  know  how  to  dance  within  a  month,  on  pain 
of  not  being  allowed  to  go  to  the  ball.  Before  din- 
ner my  mother  came  to  see  me  about  my  governess. 
I  have  kept  Miss  Griffiths,  who  was  recommended 
by  the  English  ambassador.  This  lady  is  a  clergy- 
man's daughter.  She  is  perfectly  well-bred.  Her 
mother  was  of  noble  birth.  She  is  thirty-six  years  oH 
and  she  will  teach  me  English.  My  Griffiths  ha&  some 
fairly  well-grounded  pretensions  to  good  looks;  she 
is  a  Scotchwoman,  poor  and  proud;  she  will  be  my 
chaperone;  she  will  sleep  in  Rose's  room,  and  Rose 
will  be  under  Miss  Griffiths's  orders.  I  saw  in  a  flash 
that  I  was  destined  to  govern  my  governess.  During 
the  six  days  we  have  spent  together  she  has  realized 
perfectly  that  I  am  the  only  person  who  can  possi- 
bly do  anything  for  her;  and  in  spite  of  her  marble 
countenance  I  have  thoroughly  realized  that  she  will 
be  very  obliging  to  me.  She  seems  to  me  a  good- 
natured  creature,  but  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  out 
anything  about  what  passed  between  her  and  my 
mother. 

There  is  another  piece  of  news,  which  does  not 
strike  me  as  being  particularly  important.  This  morn- 
ing my  father  refused  the  Ministry  which  had  been 
offered  him.  This  accounts  for  his  absence  of  mind 
yesterday.  He  prefers  an  embassy,  he  says,  to  the 
worry  of  public  debates.  He  has  a  fancy  for  Spain. 
All  this  I  heard  at  lunch,  the  only  moment  in  the  day 
when  my  father,  my  mother,  and  my  brother  see  each 
other  in  a  certain  amount  of  intimacy.  On  these 

25 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

occasions  the  servants  do  not  come  into  the  room 
unless  they  are  rung  for.  The  rest  of  the  time,  my 
brother,  as  well  as  my  father,  is  out  of  doors.  My 
mother  is  always  dressing,  and  is  never  to  be  seen  be- 
tween two  o'clock  and  four.  At  four  o'clock  she  goes 
out  for  an  hour's  drive,  she  receives  her  friends  from 
six  to  seven,  unless  she  is  dining  out,  and  the  whole 
evening  is  spent  in  amusement — plays,  balls,  concerts 
or  visits.  Her  life  is  so  full,  indeed,  that  I  don't  believe 
she  ever  has  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  herself.  She  must 
spend  a  good  deal  of  time  over  her  morning  toilet,  for 
she  is  perfectly  beautiful  when  she  appears  at  break- 
fast, which  is  served  at  half  past  eleven.  I  am  begin- 
ning to  understand  the  meaning  of  the  noises  I  hear  in 
her  rooms.  She  first  of  all  takes  a  bath  of  very  nearly 
cold  water;  then  she  drinks  a  cup  of  coffee  with  cream, 
and  cold;  then  she  dresses.  Except  on  extraordinary 
occasions,  she  is  never  awake  before  nine  o'clock.  In 
the  summer  she  rides  early  in  the  morning.  At  two 
o'clock  a  young  man,  of  whom  I  have  not  yet  been 
able  to  catch  a  glimpse,  comes  to  see  her.  This  is  our 
household  life.  We  meet  at  breakfast  and  at  dinner, 
but  at  this  latter  meal  I  am  often  alone  with  my 
mother,  and  I  fancy  that  oftener  still  I  shall  dine  with 
Miss  Griffiths  in  my  own  rooms,  just  as  my  grand- 
mother used  to  do,  for  my  mother  very  often  dines 
out.  The  scanty  interest  my  family  has  taken  in  me 
no  longer  causes  me  any  astonishment.  In  Paris,  my 
dear,  it  is  a  mark  of  heroism  to  care  for  people  who  are 
really  near  us,  for  we  are  not  very  often  in  our  own 

26 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

company.  How  all  absent  folk  are  forgotten  in  this 
town!  Nevertheless,  I  have  not  as  yet  put  my  foot 
outside  the  door.  I  know  nothing.  I  am  waiting  to 
sharpen  my  wits,  waiting  till  my  dress  and  my  appear- 
ance shall  be  in  harmony  with  this  outer  world,  the  stir 
of  which  astounds  me,  although  I  only  hear  its  distant 
murmur.  So  far  I  have  only  been  out  in  the  garden. 
The  Italian  opera  opens  in  a  few  days.  My  mother 
has  a  box.  I  am  wild  with  longing  to  hear  Italian 
music  and  to  see  a  French  opera.  I  am  beginning  to 
break  my  convent  habits  and  take  up  those  of  the 
outer  world.  I  am  writing  to  you  to-night  until  I 
go  to  bed — a  moment  which  is  now  put  off  until  ten 
o'clock,  the  hour  at  which  my  mother  goes  out,  un- 
less she  is  attending  some  theatrical  performance. 

There  are  a  dozen  theatres  in  Paris.  My  igno- 
rance is  gross,  and  I  read  a  great  deal,  but  my  reading 
is  confused.  One  book  leads  me  on  to  another.  I  find 
the  names  of  several  fresh  ones  on  the  cover  of  the  one 
I  have  in  hand.  But  nobody  can  direct  me,  and  conse- 
quently I  come  across  some  very  dull  ones.  All  the 
modern  literature  I  have  read  treats  of  love,  that  sub- 
ject which  used  to  occupy  our  thoughts  so  greatly, 
since  our  whole  fate  hangs  on  man  and  is  shaped  for 
his  pleasure.  But  how  inferior  are  these  authors  to 
those  two  young  girls  whom  we  used  to  call  the  White 
Doe  and  the  Pet  Darling,  Renee  and  Louise.  Ah,  my 
sweet!  How  paltry  and  fantastic  are  their  incidents! 
How  shabby  their  expression  of  the  tender  feeling! 
Two  books,  however,  have  strangely  delighted  me. 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

One  is  called  Corinne,  the  other  Adolphe.  Talking  of 
this,  I  asked  my  father  if  I  could  get  a  sight  of 
Mme.  de  Stael.  My  mother  and  he  and  Alphonse 
all  began  to  laugh. 

Alphonse  said:  "  But  where  has  she  been?  " 

My  father  answered:  "  We  are  rare  simpletons. 
She  has  been  with  the  Carmelites." 

"  My  child,"  said  the  Duchesse,  gently,  "  Mme.  de 
Stael  is  dead." 

"  How  can  a  woman  be  deceived?  "  said  I  to  Miss 
Griffiths,  when  I  had  read  to  the  end  of  Adolphe. 

"  Why,  when  she  is  in  love!  "  quoth  Miss  Griffiths. 

Tell  me,  Renee,  do  you  think  any  man  could  de- 
ceive us?  ...  Miss  Griffiths  has  ended  by  finding  out 
that  I'm  only  half  a  fool,  that  I  possess  a  secret  educa- 
tion— that  we  gave  each  other  means  in  our  endless 
discussions.  She  has  realized  that  my  ignorance  is 
limited  to  external  matters.  The  poor  soul  has  opened 
her  heart  to  me.  That  brief  answer  of  hers,  weighed 
in  the  balance  against  every  imaginable  misfortune, 
made  me  shiver  a  little.  Griffiths  told  me,  over  again, 
that  I  am  not  to  let  myself  be  dazzled  by  anything  on 
earth,  and  that  I  must  be  on  my  guard  against  every- 
thing, and  chiefly  against  that  which  will  delight  me 
most.  She  knows  no  more,  and  can  tell  me  nothing 
further.  This  style  of  discourse  is  too  monotonous. 
She  is  like  the  bird  that  can  only  chirp  one  note. 


28 


Ill 

THE   SAME  TO   THE   SAME 

December. 

DARLING:  Here  I  am,  ready  to  make  my  entrance 
into  the  gay  world,  and  I  have  striven  to  reach  the 
wildest  height  of  frolic,  before  I  compose  my  counte- 
nance to  face  society.  This  morning,  after  many  at- 
tempts, I  beheld  myself  well  and  truly  laced,  shod,  my 
waist  drawn  in,  my  hair  dressed — myself  gowned  and 
adorned.  I  did  as  the  men  who  fight  duels  do  before 
a  hostile  meeting.  I  practised  within  four  walls.  I 
wanted  to  see  myself  in  my  full  armour.  I  noted  very 
complacently  that  I  had  a  sort  of  little  conquering  and 
triumphant  look,  to  which  folks  will  have  to  submit 
perforce.  I  have  looked  myself  over,  and  passed  judg- 
ment on  myself.  I  have  reviewed  all  my  forces,  and  so 
carried  out  that  fine  maxim  of  the  ancients,  "  Know 
thyself."  I  found  immense  delight  in  making  my 
own  acquaintance.  Griffiths  was  the  only  person  in 
the  secret  of  this  doll's  play  of  mine,  in  which  I  was 
child  and  doll  at  once.  You  think  you  know  me? 
Not  a  bit. 

Here,  Renee,  I  give  you  a  portrait  of  this  your 
sister  disguised  as  a  Carmelite,  and  now  returned  to 

29 


The  Memoirs  of   Two  Young  Brides 

life  as  a  gay  and  worldly  young  lady.  Provence  al- 
ways accepted,  I  am  one  of  the  most  beautiful  people 
in  France.  That  seems  to  me  a  truthful  summing  up 
of  this  delightful  chapter.  Deficiencies  I  have,  but 
if  I  were  a  man,  I  should  love  them.  They  are  all 
points  that  are  rich  in  future  promise.  When  a  girl 
has  spent  a  fortnight  admiring  the  exquisite  round- 
ness of  her  mother's  arms,  and  that  mother,  my  dear, 
the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu,  she  is  naturally  grieved 
when  she  observes  her  own  arms  to  be  thin.  But 
she  consoles  herself  when  she  perceives  that  her  wrist 
is  delicately  formed,  and  that  there  is  a  certain  tender- 
ness of  outline  about  the  hollows  which  the  soft  flesh 
will  soon  round  and  fill  up  and  make  shapely.  The 
somewhat  spare  outline  of  the  arms  repeats  itself  in 
the  shoulders.  In  fact,  I  have  no  shoulders.  I  have 
only  two  hard  shoulder-blades,  which  make  two  sharp 
lines,  and  there  is  nothing  supple  about  my  figure — 
my  sides  look  stiff  and  rigid.  Oh,  now  I've  told  it  all! 
But  all  the  lines  are  clear  and  refined,  the  warm  pure 
colour  of  health  shines  in  the  sinewy  curves,  life  and 
blue  blood  course  freely  under  the  transparent  skin. 
Why,  the  fairest  daughter  ever  born  of  the  fair-haired 
Eve  is  a  negress  beside  me!  Why,  I  have  a  foot  like 
a  gazelle!  All  my  joints  are  daintily  modelled,  and 
I  have  the  correct  features  of  a  Greek  drawing.  The 
flesh-tints  are  not  softly  merged  together,  my  dear 
— I  know  it — but  they  are  lively  enough.  I  am  a 
very  pretty  unripe  fruit,  and  I  have  all  the  unripe 
charm  pertaining  to  my  condition.  To  sum  it  up,  I'm 

30 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

like  the  figure  rising  out  of  a  purplish  lily,  in  my  aunt's 
old  missal.  My  blue  eyes  don't  look  foolish — they  are 
proud  eyes,  with  rims  of  pearly  flesh  about  them,  pret- 
tily tinged  with  tiny  thread-like  veins;  my  long  and 
close-set  eye-lashes  fall  like  a  silken  fringe.  My  brow 
shines,  my  hair  grows  enchantingly  in  little  waves  of 
pale  gold,  that  looks  darker  in  the  shadows,  with  re- 
bellious tendrils  here  and  there,  telling  plainly  enough 
that  I  am  not  one  of  your  sickly  fair-haired  maidens 
given  to  fainting  fits,  but  a  full-blooded  blonde  from 
the  South  country — a  blonde  who  strikes  before  any 
one  has  time  to  strike  her.  The  hair-dresser,  if  you 
please,  actually  wanted  to  smooth  my  hair  down  into 
two  bands  and  to  hang  a  pearl  on  a  gold  chain  upon 
my  forehead,  telling  me  I  should  make  a  "  Middle 
Ages  "  effect.  "  Let  me  tell  you,"  said  I,  "  that  I  am 
not  so  near  middle  age  as  to  need  any  adornment  cal- 
culated to  make  me  look  younger! " 

My  nose  is  delicate,  my  nostrils  are  well-cut,  and 
the  membrane  that  parts  them  is  of  a  dainty  pink.  It 
is  an  imperious  and  scornful  nose,  and  in  the  compo- 
sition of  its  tip  muscle  predominates  over  flesh  to 
an  extent  which  will  prevent  it  ever  growing  thick 
or  red. 

My  dear  creature,  if  all  this  is  not  enough  to  make 
a  man  marry  a  portionless  girl,  I'm  sorely  mistaken. 
My  ears  are  bewitchingly  curled,  a  pearl  in  each  lobe 
would  look  yellow  beside  them.  My  neck  is  long — it 
has  that  serpentine  movement  which  imparts  so  great 
an  appearance  of  majesty.  In  the  shadow  its  white- 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

ness  takes  on  a  golden  tinge.  Ah,  my  mouth  is  a 
thought  too  big,  perhaps!  But,  then,  it's  so  expres- 
sive! The  colour  of  my  lips  is  so  brilliant,  my  teeth 
laugh  so  merrily  behind  them!  And  then,  my  dear, 
the  whole  thing  is  in  harmony.  I  have  a  way  of  mov- 
ing, and  a  voice.  I  remember  how  my  grandmother 
managed  her  skirts  without  ever  laying  her  hand  upon 
them.  I  am  pretty,  then,  and  I  am  graceful.  If  it  so 
pleases  me,  I  can  laugh  as  we  used  to  laugh  together 
often,  and  I  shall  still  be  respected.  There  will  be  some- 
thing imposing  always  in  the  dimples  light-fingered 
Mirth  will  make  in  my  fair  cheeks.  I  can  drop  rny 
eyes,  and  look  as  though  my  snowy  brow  concealed 
an  ice-cold  heart.  I  can  sit  Madonna-like,  with  mel- 
ancholy, drooping,  swan-like  neck,  and  all  the  virgins 
ever  painted  will  be  fathoms  deep  below  me.  I  shall 
throne  higher  in  Heaven  than  they  will.  The  man 
who  would  speak  with  me  will  be  fain  to  set  his  voice 
to  music. 

Thus  I  am  armed  at  all  points,  and  I  can  play  the 
gamut  of  the  coquette  from  its  most  solemn  notes  up 
to  its  sweetest  trills.  It  is  an  immense  advantage 
not  to  be  uniform.  My  mother  is  neither  wanton  nor 
virginal.  She  is  altogether  dignified  and  imposing. 
The  only  possible  change  for  her  is  when  she  becomes 
leonine.  If  she  inflicts  a  wound  she  finds  it  difficult  to 
heal  it.  I  shall  know  how  to  wound  and  how  to  heal 
too.  Thus  there  is  no  possibility  of  any  rivalry  be- 
tween us,  unless  we  fall  out  about  the  relative  perfec- 
tions of  our  feet  and  hands.  I  take  after  my  father. 

32 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

He  is  subtle  and  clever.  I  have  my  grandmother's 
ways  and  her  delightful  tone  of  voice — a  head  voice, 
when  I  force  it,  a  melodious  chest-voice  in  ordinary 
tete-a-tete  conversation.  It  seems  to  me  it  is  only 
to-day  I  have  come  out  of  the  convent.  As  yet  I  don't 
exist,  as  far  as  society  is  concerned,  I  am  utterly  un- 
known. What  an  exquisite  moment!  I  am  still 
mine  own,  like  a  newly  opened  flower  on  which  no 
eye  has  lighted.  Well,  dearest,  when  I  walked  up  and 
down  my  sitting-room  and  looked  at  myself,  when  I 
saw  my  simple  convent  garments  lying  cast  aside, 
something,  I  know  not  what,  rose  up  in  my  heart. 
There  was  regret  for  the  past,  dread  of  the  future,  fear 
of  the  great  world,  farewells  to  our  pale  daisies,  so 
innocently  culled,  so  carelessly  pulled  asunder.  All 
these  there  were.  But  there  were  other  things — 
those  wayward  fancies  that  I  drive  back  into  the 
depths  of  my  soul,  whither  I  dare  not  descend,  and 
whence  they  rise  up  to  me. 

Renee,  I  have  a  trousseau  like  a  bride's.  Every- 
thing is  carefully  laid  away  with  bags  of  perfume  in 
the  cedar-wood  drawers  faced  with  lacquer-work  in 
my  beautiful  dressing-room.  I  have  ribbons,  shoes, 
gloves,  quantities  of  them  all.  My  father,  in  the  kind- 
liest way,  has  given  me  a  young  lady's  necessary  treas- 
ures— a  dressing-case,  a  toilet  service,  a  perfume  box, 
a  fan,  a  parasol,  a  prayer-book,  a  gold  chain,  a  cash- 
mere shawl.  He  has  promised  to  have  me  taught  to 
ride;  and  further,  I  have  learnt  to  dance.  To-morrow, 
yes,  to-morrow  night,  I  am  to  make  my  debut.  I  have 

33 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

a  white  muslin  dress.  My  hair  is  to  be  dressed  a  la 
Greque,  with  a  wreath  of  white  roses.  I  shall  put  on 
my  Madonna  expression.  I  mean  to  look  very  simple, 
and  to  have  all  the  women  on  my  side.  My  mother 
doesn't  dream  of  anything  of  what  I  am  writing  to 
you.  She  believes  me  incapable  of  any  serious 
thought.  If  she  were  to  read  my  letter  she  would  be 
stupefied  with  astonishment.  My  brother  honours  me 
with  the  most  utter  scorn  and  continues  to  treat  me 
with  the  good-nature  born  of  his  indifference.  He  is 
a  handsome  young  fellow,  but  pettish  and  low-spirited. 
I  know  his  secret — neither  the  Duke  nor  the  Duchesse 
have  guessed  it.  Though  he  is  a  Duke  and  though 
he  is  young,  he  is  jealous  of  his  father.  He  has  no 
State  position,  he  has  no  office  at  Court.  He  can't  say, 
"  I'm  going  to  the  House  of  Parliament."  I  am  the 
only  person  in  this  house  who  has  sixteen  free  hours 
in  which  I  can  think.  My  father  is  absorbed  in  public 
business  and  his  own  pleasures.  My  mother,  too,  is 
busy.  Not  one  of  them  ever  turns  back  to  their  own 
thought,  they  seem  always  out  of  doors.  There  is  not 
time  enough  for  their  life.  I  am  excessively  curious  to 
know  what  invincible  charm  there  can  be  about  this 
society  that  keeps  you  out  of  doors  from  nine  o'clock 
every  night  till  two  or  three  the  next  morning,  that 
induces  you  to  take  so  much  trouble  and  endure  so 
much  fatigue.  When  I  longed  to  reach  it  I  never 
dreamt  there  could  be  such  distances  and  such  intoxi- 
cations: but,  in  truth,  I  forget  that  this  is  Paris.  So 
you  see,  the  members  of  a  family  may  all  live  together 

34 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

and  not  really  know  each  other.  Enter  a  sort  of  nun, 
and  in  a  fortnight  she  discovers  what  a  statesman  can 
not  perceive  in  his  own  house.  But  perhaps  he  does 
see  it,  and  there  is  something  paternal  in  his  deliberate 
blindness.  I  must  probe  this  dark  matter. 


35 


IV 

FROM   THE   SAME  TO  THE   SAME 

December 

YESTERDAY  at  two  o'clock,  on  just  such  an  au- 
tumn day  as  those  we  used  to  enjoy  so  much  by  the 
banks  of  the  Loire,  I  went  for  a  drive  in  the  Champs 
Elysees  and  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  So  I  have  seen 
Paris  at  last!  The  effect  of  the  Place  Louis  XV  is 
really  fine,  but  its  beauty  is  of  the  order  that  mankind 
creates.  I  was  well  dressed,  pensive,  though  ready 
enough  to  laugh;  my  face  looked  calmly  out  under  a 
bewitching  hat;  my  arms  were  folded.  I  did  not  win 
a  single  smile.  Not  one  poor  young  man  stopped 
short  in  his  astonishment;  not  a  soul  turned  round  to 
look  at  me;  and  yet  the  carriage  progressed  with  a  de- 
liberation that  was  in  harmony  with  my  attitude.  But 
I  was  mistaken.  One  fascinating  Duke,  who  passed 
me  by,  turned  his  horse  sharply  back.  This  man,  who 
saved  my  vanity  in  the  public  sight,  was  my  own  father, 
whose  pride,  he  tells  me,  was  agreeably  tickled  by  my 
appearance.  I  met  my  mother,  who  wafted  me  a  little 
greeting  that  looked  like  a  kiss  upon  her  finger  tips. 
My  Griffiths,  who  knows  not  what  an  arriere  pensee 
means,  glanced  carelessly  about  her,  this  way  and 
that.  To  my  thinking,  a  young  lady  should  always 

36 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

know  exactly  what  she  is  looking  at.  I  felt  furious. 
One  man  scrutinized  my  carriage  most  attentively 
and  took  no  notice  of  me  whatever.  This  latter  indi- 
vidual was  probably  a  coach-builder.  I  have  been 
mistaken  in  my  estimate  of  my  own  power:  beauty, 
that  rare  privilege  that  God  alone  bestows,  is  more 
common  in  Paris  than  I  had  fancied.  Simpering  be- 
ings reaped  courteous  salutations.  Red-faced  women 
came  in  view,  and  men  said  to  themselves,  "  There  she 
is!  "  My  mother  was  enormously  admired.  There  is 
an  answer  to  this  riddle,  and  I  will  seek  it  out.  Speak- 
ing generally,  the  men,  my  dear,  struck  me  as  being 
very  ugly.  The  good-looking  ones  are  unpleasing 
likenesses  of  us  women.  I  know  not  what  evil  genius 
invented  their  dress.  Compared  with  that  of  the  last 
two  centuries  its  awkwardness  is  something  surpris- 
ing. It  has  no  brilliancy,  no  colour,  no  poetry.  It 
appeals  neither  to  the  senses,  the  intellect,  nor  the  eye, 
and  it  must  be  inconvenient.  It  is  scant  and  short  in 
cut.  The  hats  struck  me  particularly.  They  are  like 
the  segment  of  a  pillar.  They  don't  follow  the  shape 
of  the  head.  But  I  am  assured  it  is  easier  to  bring 
about  a  revolution  than  to  bring  in  becoming  hats. 
In  France  a  man's  courage  fails  him  at  the  idea  of 
wearing  a  round-crowned  felt  head-piece,  and  for 
want  of  one  day's  bravery  they  suffer  absurd  hats  all 
their  lives.  And  then  we  are  told  Frenchmen  are 
fickle!  Anyhow,  the  men  are  perfectly  frightful.  All 
the  faces  I  have  seen  are  hard  and  worn,  without  the 
slightest  look  of  peace  or  calm.  The  lines  are  harsh, 

37 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

and  there  are  wrinkles  that  tell  of  disappointed  ambi- 
tions and  unsatisfied  vanities.  A  fine  forehead  is  a 
rare  occurrence. 

"  So  these  are  the  Parisians!  "  said  I  to  Miss  Grif- 
fiths. 

"  Very  charming  and  witty  men,"  she  answered. 

I  held  my  peace.  An  unmarried  woman  of  thirty- 
$ix  keeps  a  mine  of  indulgence  for  others  in  her  heart. 

That  evening  I  went  to  a  ball,  and  stood  beside  my 
mother,  who  took  me  on  her  arm  and  was  well  re- 
warded for  her  pains.  All  the  honours  of  the  evening 
were  hers.  I  was  a  pretext  for  the  most  pleasing  flat- 
teries. She  was  clever  enough  to  set  me  dancing  with 
various  idiots,  who  all  descanted  on  the  heat,  as  if  I 
were  freezing,  and  on  the  beauty  of  the  entertainment, 
as  if  I  were  blind.  Not  one  of  them  failed  to  fall  into 
ecstasies  over  one  strange,  unheard  of,  extraordinary, 
singular,  whimsical  fact — that  of  beholding  me  for  the 
first  time.  My  dress,  which  I  had  thought  so  en- 
chanting when  I  walked  alone  up  and  down  my  white- 
and-gold  sitting-room,  was  barely  noticeable  among 
the  wonderful  adornments  worn  by  most  of  the 
women  present.  Each  lady  had  her  faithful  circle,  and 
they  all  watched  each  other  out  of  the  corner  of 
their  eyes.  Several,  like  my  mother,  blazed  with  tri- 
umphant beauty.  A  girl  does  not  count  at  a  ball  at 
all,  she  is  a  mere  dancing-machine.  With  a  few  rare 
exceptions,  the  men  were  no  better  than  those  I  saw 
in  the  Champs  filysees.  They  look  worn-out,  there  is 
no  character  about  their  faces,  or  rather  they  all  have 

38 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

the  same  character.  The  proud  and  vigorous  expres- 
sions we  see  in  the  pictures  of  our  ancestors,  who 
united  physical  strength  with  moral  force,  no  longer 
exist.  Yet  at  this  gathering  there  was  one  highly 
gifted  man,  whose  great  beauty  of  face  made  him 
stand  out  from  the  general  crowd.  But  he  did  not 
impress  me  as  he  should  have  done.  I  do  not  know 
his  works,  and  he  is  not  of  noble  blood.  However 
great  may  be  the  genius  and  the  qualities  possessed  by 
a  bourgeois,  or  a  man  who  has  been  ennobled,  not  one 
drop  of  blood  flows  in  my  veins  for  him.  And  besides, 
this  individual  seemed  to  me  so  self-occupied,  so  little 
concerned  about  others,  that  he  made  me  feel  we  can 
only  be  things,  not  beings,  in  the  eyes  of  such  great 
seekers  after  thought.  When  a  man  of  talent  falls  in 
love,  he  must  give  up  writing.  Otherwise  he  does  not 
really  love;  for  there  is  something  in  his  brain  that 
takes  precedence  of  his  mistress.  All  this  I  seemed 
to  read  in  the  demeanour  of  this  gentleman,  who  is,  I 
am  told,  an  orator,  a  teacher,  a  writer,  and  whom  his 
ambition  turns  into  the  humble  servant  of  all  great- 
ness. I  made  up  my  mind  at  once.  I  concluded  it 
was  quite  unworthy  of  me  to  bear  society  a  grudge  for 
my  own  lack  of  success,  and  I  began  to  dance  quite 
unconcernedly.  Further,  I  found  I  enjoyed  dancing- 
very  much.  I  heard  various  uninteresting1  pieces  of 
gossip  about  people  with  whom  I  had  no  acquaint- 
ance. But  perhaps  one  has  to  know  a  great  many 
things  of  which  I  am  still  ignorant  before  one  can 
understand  these  stories,  for  I  saw  that  most  men  and 

39 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

women  took  a  lively  pleasure  in  saying  or  listening  to 
certain  sentences.  Society  is  full  of  riddles,  the  an- 
swers to  which  seem  difficult  to  find.  There  are  maai- 
fold  intrigues,  too.  I  have  fairly  sharp  eyes  and  keen 
ears,  and  as  to  my  powers  of  comprehension,  you 
know  them,  Mile,  de  Maucombe! 

I  went  home  weary  and  delighted  with  my  weari- 
ness. I  very  artlessly  expressed  my  sensations  to  my 
mother,  and  she  told  me  I  was  never  to  confide  that 
sort  of  thing  to  any  one  but  her. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  added,  "  good  taste  con- 
sists as  much  in  knowing  when  to  keep  silence  as 
when  to  speak." 

This  warning  helped  me  to  understand  the  nature 
of  certain  sensations  concerning  which  one  should  be 
silent  to  every  one,  perhaps  even  to  one's  own  mother. 
With  a  single  glance  I  took  in  the  whole  field  of 
feminine  dissimulation.  I  can  assure  you,  dear  soul, 
that  we  two,  with  the  boldness  born  of  our  innocence, 
would  be  two  tolerably  wide-awake  little  gossips. 
How  much  teaching  lies  in  a  finger  laid  on  lip,  a  word, 
a  glance!  In  one  instant,  I  felt  timid  to  a  degree. 
What !  must  I  not  express  the  natural  delight  I  found 
in  dancing?  "  Then,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  what  about 
my  inner  feelings?  "  I  went  to  bed  feeling  sad.  I  am 
still  sharply  conscious  of  the  effect  of  this  first  col- 
lision between  my  frank  and  joyous  nature  and  the 
hard  laws  of  the  social  world.  Already  I  have  left 
some  scraps  of  my  white  fleece  hanging  on  the  way- 
side brambles.  Adieu,  my  angel! 

40 


October. 

How  deeply  your  letter  moved  me,  especially 
when  I  compared  our  two  destinies !  How  brilliant  is 
the  society  in  which  you  are  to  live!  How  peaceful 
the  retreat  in  which  I  shall  end  my  obscure  career! 
One  fortnight  after  my  arrival  at  the  Chateau  de 
Maucombe— of  which  I  have  talked  to  you  so  much 
that  I  need  not  speak  of  it  again,  and  where  I  found 
my  own  room  very  much  as  I  had  left  it — though  now 
I  can  appreciate  the  splendid  outlook  upon  the  Ge- 
menos  Valley,  on  which,  in  my  childish  days,  I  used 
to  gaze  with  unseeing  eyes — my  father  and  mother, 
accompanied  by  my  two  brothers,  took  me  to  dine 
with  one  of  our  neighbours,  an  old  M.  de  1'Esto- 
rade,  a  nobleman  who  has  grown  very  rich,  as  pro- 
vincial people  can  grow  rich,  by  dint  of  avarice.  This 
old  gentleman  had  not  been  able  to  protect  his  only 
son  from  the  greedy  hands  of  Bonaparte.  After  hav- 
ing saved  him  from  conscription,  he  was  obliged,  in 
1813,  to  send  him  to  serve  in  the  army  in  the  Garde 
d'Honneur.  After  the  battle  of  Leipsic,  the  old  Baron 
heard  no  more  tidings  of  his  son.  In  1814,  he  waited 

41 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

on  M.  de  Montriveau,  who  told  him  he  had  seen 
his  son  taken  prisoner  by  the  Russians.  Mme.  de 
1'Estorade  died  of  grief,  while  fruitless  inquiries  were 
still  being  made  in  Russia.  The  Baron,  a  very  re- 
ligious-minded old  man,  practised  that  noble  the- 
ological virtue  which  we  used  to  practise  at  Blois 
— Hope!  Hope  brought  his  son  before  his  eyes  in 
dreams,  and  for  his  son  he  laid  aside  his  income, 
and  looked  after  his  boy's  share  in  the  inheritance  due 
to  him  from  Mme.  de  1'Estorade's  family.  Nobody 
ventured  to  make  game  of  the  old  gentleman.  I 
guessed,  at  last,  that  the  unhoped  for  reappearance  of 
this  son  had  been  the  cause  of  my  own  recall.  Who 
would  ever  have  guessed  that  while  our  thoughts 
roved  idly  hither  and  thither,  my  future  husband  was 
slowly  making  his  way  on  foot  across  Russia,  Poland, 
and  Germany.  His  evil  fate  never  forsook  him  till  he 
reached  Berlin,  whence  the  French  minister  assisted 
him  to  get  back  to  France.  The  celebrity  of  the 
name  of  the  elder  M.  de  1'Estorade,  a  small  provincial 
nobleman,  with  an  income  of  some  ten  thousand 
francs  a  year,  is  not  sufficiently  European  to  have 
kindled  any  special  interest  in  the  Chevalier  de 
1'Estorade — a  title  with  a  decided  smack  of  the  adven- 
turer about  it.  The  accumulations  of  an  annual  in- 
come of  twelve  thousand  francs,  Mme.  de  1'Estorade's 
own  fortune,  together  with  the  father's  savings,  have 
provided  the  poor  Garde  d'Honneur  with  what  in 
Provence  is  a  considerable  fortune — something  like 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,  independent 

42 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

of  real  estate.  Just  before  his  son  came  back  to 
him,  old  M.  de  1'Estorade  bought  a  fine  bit  of 
property  which  had  been  badly  managed,  and  pro- 
poses to  plant  it  with  ten  thousand  mulberry  trees, 
which  he  had  reared  in  his  nursery  garden  with  a  spe- 
cial view  to  this  very  purchase.  When  the  Baron 
recovered  his  son,  his  one  idea  was  to  find  him  a  wife, 
and  that  wife  a  girl  of  noble  birth.  My  father  and 
mother  fell  in,  as  regards  me,  with  their  neighbour's 
plan,  as  soon  as  the  old  gentleman  informed  them  of 
his  willingness  to  accept  Renee  de  Maucombe  with- 
out any  dowry,  and  to  formally  settle  on  the  said 
Renee  the  amount  she  should  legally  have  inherited 
from  her  parents.  As  soon  as  my  second  brother, 
Jean  de  Maucombe,  came  of  age,  he  signed  a  deed 
acknowledging  the  receipt  of  an  advance  on  the  fam- 
ily inheritance  amounting  to  one-third  of  the  sum 
total.  Thus  do  well-born  Provencal  families  evade 
the  Sieur  de  Bonaparte's  vile  Code  Civil,  which  will 
send  as  many  girls  to  the  convent  as  it  has  already 
assisted  to  the  altar.  According  to  the  little  I  have 
heard  said  on  the  matter,  there  is  great  difference  of 
opinion  among  the  French  nobility  as  to  these  im- 
portant subjects. 

That  dinner,  my  dear  creature,  was  for  an  interview 
between  your  darling  and  the  exile.  Let  me  recount 
everything  in  its  proper  order.  The  Comte  de  Mau- 
combe's  servants  put  on  their  old  embroidered  liveries 
and  laced  hats,  the  coachman  got  into  his  big  boots. 
iWe  sat,  five  of  us,  in  the  old  coach,  and  we  arrived  in 

43 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

all  our  majesty  by  two  o'clock,  for  dinner  at  three, 
at  the  country-house  which  the  Baron  de  1'Estorade 
makes  his  home.  My  father-in-law  does  not  possess  a 
chateau — it  is  a  plain  country-house,  standing  at  the 
foot  of  one  of  our  hills,  at  the  mouth  of  our  lovely 
valley,  the  pride  of  which  certainly  is  our  own  old  Cas- 
tle of  Maucombe.  This  country-house  is  just  a  plain 
country-house — four  flint  walls,  faced  with  a  yellow- 
ish cement,  and  roofed  with  curved  tiles  of  a  beautiful 
red  colour.  The  rafters  bend  under  the  weight  of 
these  tiles.  The  windows,  cut  in  the  walls  without  any 
attempt  at  symmetrical  arrangement,  have  huge  yel- 
low-painted shutters.  The  garden  around  the  dwell- 
ing is  a  regular  Provencal  garden,  shut  in  by  low  walls 
built  of  big  round  pebbles,  arranged  in  layers,  and  in 
which  the  mason's  skill  is  exemplified  by  the  fashion  in 
which  he  laid  the  said  pebbles,  one  row  flat  and  the 
next  standing  up  on  edge.  The  layer  of  mud  that  in- 
cases them  is  falling  off  in  places.  What  raises  this 
country-house  to  the  dignity  of  a  mansion  is  the  iron- 
work entrance  gates  opening  on  to  the  high-road. 
Those  gates  cost  many  a  sacrifice.  They  are  so  thin 
and  poor  they  remind  me  of  Soeur  Angelique!  The 
house  has  a  flight  of  stone  steps,  the  door  is  graced 
with  a  pent-house  porch  that  no  peasant  of  the  Loire 
would  endure  on  his  neat  white-stone  house  with  its 
blue  roof  on  which  the  sun  laughs.  The  garden, 
like  all  the  surrounding  ground,  is  horribly  dusty, 
the  trees  are  all  burnt  up.  It  is  easy  to  see  that 
for  many  a  long  day  the  Baron's  whole  life  has  been 

44 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

spent  in  getting  up  and  going  to  bed  and  getting 
up  again,  without  giving  a  thought  to  anything  save 
to  laying  by  one  copper  coin  after  another.  He  eats 
the  same  kind  of  food  as  his  two  servants — a  Pro- 
vengal  lad  and  his  wife's  old  maid.  There  is  very 
little  furniture  in  the  rooms.  Yet  the  De  1'Esto- 
rade  household  had  done  its  best,  ransacked  its  cup- 
boards, taxed  all  its  resources  for  this  dinner,  which 
was  served  to  us  on  old,  black,  battered,  silver  plate. 
The  exile,  my  dear,  is  like  his  gates,  very  thin  and 
poor.  He  is  pale,  he  has  suffered,  he  is  taciturn.  He 
is  seven-and-thirty,  and  he  looks  as  if  he  were  fifty. 
The  ebony  of  his  once  splendid  tresses  is  streaked  with 
white  like  a  lark's  wing.  His  fine  blue  eyes  are  sunk 
in  his  head.  He  is  a  little  deaf,  which  makes  him  like 
the  Knight  of  the  Sorrowful  Countenance.  Neverthe- 
less, I  have  graciously  consented  to  become  Mme.  de 
1'Estorade  and  to  accept  a  dowry  of  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs,  but  only  on  the  express  under- 
standing that  I  am  to  be  allowed  to  rearrange  the 
country-house  and  lay  out  a  park  round  it.  I  have  ex* 
tracted  a  formal  promise  from  my  father  to  make  over 
to  me  a  small  water  supply,  which  can  be  carried 
hither  from  Maucombe.  Within  a  month  I  shall  be 
Mme.  de  1'Estorade.  For  I  am  loved,  my  dear!  A 
man  who  has  dwelt  in  Siberian  snows  is  very  much  dis- 
posed to  admire  those  black  eyes  which,  so  you  used 
to  tell  me,  ripen  the  very  fruit  I  look  at.  Louis  de 
1'Estorade  appears  exceedingly  happy  to  marry  "  the 
fair  Renee  de  Maucombe,"  thus  is  your  friend  proudly 

45 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

described.  While  you  are  making  yourself  ready  to 
reap  all  the  joys  of  the  fullest  of  lives — that  of  a 
daughter  of  the  House  of  Chaulieu  in  Paris,  where 
you  will  reign  supreme — your  poor  love,  your  Renee, 
that  child  of  the  desert,  has  fallen  from  the  Empyrean 
heights  to  which  we  both  had  soared,  down  to  a  fate 
as  ordinary  as  that  of  a  field  daisy. 

Yes,  I  have  vowed  to  myself  that  I  will  be  the  con- 
solation of  this  young  man  who  has  had  no  youth,  who 
passed  from  his  mother's  lap  to  that  of  the  war  god- 
dess, and  from  the  delights  of  a  country  home  to 
Siberian  frosts  and  toils.  The  uniform  tenor  of  my 
future  existence  will  be  varied  by  the  humble  pleas- 
ures of  a  rural  life.  I  will  extend  the  oasis  of  the 
Gemenos  Valley  all  about  my  house,  which  shall  stand 
in  the  majestic  shade  of  splendid  trees.  Here,  in 
Provence,  I  will  have  lawns  that  are  always  green.  I 
will  spread  my  park  up  on  to  the  hill,  and  on  its  high- 
est point  I  will  set  some  dainty  summer-house, 
whence,  perhaps,  I  may  get  a  glimpse  of  the  shining 
Mediterranean.  Orange  and  lemon  trees,  all  the  rich- 
est products  of  botany,  shall  embellish  my  retreat,  and 
here  I  shall  be  the  mother  of  children;  a  natural,  im- 
perishable poetry  will  environ  us.  If  I  am  faithful  to 
my  duty,  I  need  fear  no  ill-fortune.  My  father-in-law 
and  M.  de  1'Estorade  share  my  feelings  about  religion. 
Ah,  dearest!  Life  looks  to  me  just  like  one  of  our 
great  French  high-roads,  smooth  and  quiet  and 
shaded  by  everlasting  trees.  There  will  hardly  be  two 
Bonapartes  in  this  one  century  1  J  *hall  be  able  to 

46 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

keep  my  children,  if  I  have  any,  to  rear  them  and 
bring  them  up  to  man's  estate.  I  shall  enjoy  my  life 
in  theirs.  If  you  do  not  fail  to  reach  your  appointed 
destiny — you  who  will  be  the  most  powerful  woman 
upon  earth — your  Renee's  children  will  have  an  active 
protectress.  Then  farewell,  for  me  at  least,  to  the 
romantic  tales  and  fantastic  situations  of  which  we 
used  to  fancy  ourselves  the  heroines.  I  know  the 
story  of  my  life  already  and  beforehand.  It  will  be 
marked  by  such  great  events  as  the  teething  of  the 
young  De  1'Estorades,  their  meals,  the  havoc  they  will 
wreak  on  my  shrubberies  and  my  person.  To  em- 
broider their  caps,  to  be  loved  and  admired  by  a  poor 
ailing  man,  here  at  the  mouth  of  the  Gemenos  Valley 
— these  will  be  my  pleasures.  Some  day,  perhaps,  this 
country  lady  will  go  and  spend  her  winters  at  Mar- 
seilles. But  even  then  she  will  only  appear  on  the 
tiny  provincial  stage,  where  but  little  danger  lurks  be- 
hind the  scenes.  There  will  be  nothing  for  me  to  fear, 
not  even  one  of  those  admirations  which  may  give  just 
cause  for  a  legitimate  pride.  We  shall  take  a  deep  in- 
terest in  silkworms,  because  we  shall  have  mulberry 
leaves  to  sell.  We  shall  learn  to  know  all  the  strange 
vicissitudes  of  Provencal  life,  and  the  storms  of  a 
household  in  which  there  can  not  be  any  possible  quar- 
rel. M.  de  TEstorade  has  formally  announced  his  in- 
tention to  be  ruled  by  his  wife.  Now,  as  I  shall  do 
nothing  to  keep  him  up  to  this  wise  resolution,  he  will 
most  probably  persist  in  it.  You,  dear  Louise,  will 
constitute  the  romantic  side  of  my  existence.  So, 

47 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

mind  you  tell  me  all  about  your  balls  and  parties.  Let 
me  know  how  you  are  dressed,  what  flowers  you 
wreathe  in  your  beautiful  fair  hair,  what  the  men  say 
and  how  they  behave.  I  shall  be  with  you,  listening, 
dancing,  feeling  the  tips  of  your  fingers  gently 
squeezed.  How  I  should  like  to  amuse  myself  in 
Paris,  while  you  played  house-mother  at  La  Crampade 
— that  is  the  name  of  our  country-house!  Poor  dear 
man  who  thinks  he's  only  marrying  one  woman!  Will 
he  find  out  we  are  two?  I  am  beginning  to  talk  fool- 
ishness, and  as  I  must  cease  doing  it,  except  by  proxy, 
I'll  stop  short.  A  kiss,  then,  on  each  of  your  cheeks. 
My  lips  are  still  maiden  lips.  He  has  not  dared  to  do 
more  than  hold  my  hand.  Oh,  there's  something 
rather  alarming  about  his  respectfulness  and  pro- 
priety! Well  there,  I  am  beginning  again!  Farewell, 
my  dear  one ! 

P.  S. — I  have  just  opened  your  third  letter.  My 
dear,  I  have  about  a  thousand  francs  at  my  command. 
Please  spend  them  for  me  on  pretty  things  that  could 
not  be  had  in  this  neighbourhood,  nor  even  at  Mar- 
seilles. Remember  that  none  of  the  old  folk  on  either 
side  know  any  one  with  good  taste,  to  do  their  Paris 
commissions  for  them.  I  will  answer  the  letter  later. 


VI 

FROM   DON   FELIPE   HENAREZ   TO    DON   FERNANDO 

PARIS,  September. 

THE  heading  of  this  letter,  my  dear  brother,  will 
show  you  that  the  chief  of  your  family  is  in  no  danger. 
If  the  massacre  of  our  ancestors  in  the  Court  of  Lions 
did  turn  us,  despite  ourselves,  into  Spaniards  and 
Christians,  it  left  us  a  legacy  of  Arab  caution — and 
I  owe  my  safety,  perhaps,  to  the  blood  of  the  Aben- 
cerages  that  flows  in  my  veins.  Fright  turned  Ferdi- 
nand into  so  good  an  actor  that  Valdez  believed  his 
protestations.  But  for  me  the  poor  admiral  would 
have  been  lost.  None  of  the  Liberals  will  ever  learn 
to  know  the  nature  of  a  King.  But  I  had  long  been 
familiar  with  the  character  of  that  particular  mem- 
ber of  the  Bourbon  House.  The  more  his  Majesty 
averred  he  would  protect  us,  the  more  deep  were 
my  suspicions.  A  true  Spaniard  does  not  need  to 
reiterate  his  promises.  The  man  who  talks  too  much 
seeks  to  deceive.  Valdez  got  on  board  an  English 
ship.  As  for  me,  when  the  fate  of  my  beloved  Spain 
was  lost  in  Andalusia,  I  wrote  to  my  steward  in 
Sardinia  to  provide  for  my  safety.  Some  skilful  coral 
fishers  waited  for  me  in  a  boat  at  a  certain  place  on  the 

49 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

sea-coast.  While  Ferdinand  was  begging  the  French 
authorities  to  seize  my  person,  I  was  safe  in  my 
Barony  of  Macumer,  surrounded  by  bandits,  who  set 
every  law  and  every  vengeance  at  defiance.  The  head 
of  the  last  Hispano-Moorish  house  in  Granada  found 
an  African  desert,  and  even  an  Arab  horse,  on  the  do- 
main that  had  come  down  to  him  from  the  Saracens. 
When  these  bandits,  who  but  yesterday  dreaded 
my  justice,  learnt  that  they  were  sheltering  the 
Duque  de  Soria — their  master,  a  Henarez,  at  last,  the 
first  who  had  come  near  them  since  the  days  when  the 
Moors  held  the  island — from  the  vengeance  of  the 
King  of  Spain,  their  eyes  flashed  with  wild  joy  and 
pride.  Two-and-twenty  carabines  were  instantly  of- 
fered to  make  away  with  Ferdinand  de  Bourbon,  that 
scion  of  a  race  unknown  when  the  victorious  Aben- 
cerages  first  appeared  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire.  I 
thought  I  might  have  lived  on  the  income  of  this  huge 
property,  upon  which,  unluckily,  we  have  bestowed 
such  scant  attention.  But  my  stay  there  has  con- 
vinced me  of  my  own  mistake,  and  of  the  truthfulness 
of  Quevedo's  reports.  The  poor  man  had  two-and- 
twenty  human  existences  at  my  service,  but  not  a 
single  coin.  There  are  savannas  covering  twenty 
thousand  acres,  but  not  a  house  of  any  kind:  virgin 
forests,  but  not  a  stick  of  furniture.  A  million  of 
piastres  must  be  spent,  and  the  owner  must  have  made 
his  home  there  for  fifty  years,  before  that  splendid  ter- 
ritory can  be  turned  to  profit.  I  will  think  it  over. 
Vanquished  men  ponder  as  they  flee,  both  on  them- 

50 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

selves  and  on  their  lost  cause.  As  I  looked  at  that 
splendid  corpse,  already  gnawed  by  monkish  rats, 
tears  swam  in  my  eyes.  I  recognised  the  sad  fate 
awaiting  Spain.  At  Marseilles  I  heard  of  Riego's 
end,  and  reflected  mournfully  that  my  life,  too,  will 
end  in  martyrdom — but  one  that  will  be  obscure  and 
slow.  Will  life  be  life  without  the  possibility  of  devot- 
ing it  to  one's  country,  or  living  it  for  a  woman? 
Love,  victory,  these  two  aspects  of  the  same  idea, 
were  the  law  graven  on  our  sword-blades,  written  in 
letters  of  gold  on  the  archways  of  our  houses,  repeat- 
ed by  the  fountains  that  sprang  in  our  marble  basins. 
But  in  vain  does  my  heart  cling  fanatically  to  the 
command.  The  sword  is  snapped,  the  palace  lies  in 
ashes,  the  fresh  spring  is  swallowed  up  in  barren 
sands!  Here,  then,  is  my  last  will. 

Don  Fernando,  you  will  soon  understand  why  I 
checked  your  eagerness  and  commanded  you  to  con- 
tinue faithful  to  the  Rey  netto.  As  your  brother  and 
your  friend,  I  beseech  you  to  obey  me;  as  your  master, 
I  command  you!  You  will  go  to  the  King,  you  will 
pray  him  to  bestow  my  grandeeships  and  my  pos- 
sessions, my  office  and  my  titles,  on  yourself.  He  will 
hold  back;  he  will  make  one  or  two  royal  faces,  may 
be.  But  you  will  tell  him  that  Maria  Heredia  loves 
you,  and  that  Maria  can  marry  nobody  but  the  Duque 
de  Soria.  Then  you  will  see  him  quiver  with  delight 
The  huge  fortune  of  the  Heredia  family  prevented  him 
from  accomplishing  my  ruin.  He  will  think  it  com- 
plete then,  and  all  I  leave  behind  me  will  instantly; 

5  Vol.  2 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

be  bestowed  on  you.  You  shall  marry  Maria.  I  had 
guessed  the  secret  of  the  love  against  which  you  were 
both  struggling,  and  I  have  prepared  the  old  Count's 
mind  for  this  exchange.  We  had  bowed,  Maria  and  I, 
to  social  rules  and  to  our  parents'  will.  You  are  as 
beautiful  as  any  love-child;  I,  ugly  as  a  Spanish  gran- 
dee can  be.  You  are  beloved.  I  am  the  object  of  an 
unspoken  aversion.  You  will  soon  overcome  what 
little  resistance  my  misfortunes  may  have  inspired  in 
the  heart  of  the  high-born  Spanish  maiden.  Duque 
de  Soria!  your  predecessor  does  not  choose  to  cost 
you  one  touch  of  regret,  nor  to  defraud  you  of  a  single 
maravedi.  As  Maria's  jewels  will  replace  the  loss  of 
my  mother's  diamonds  to  our  family,  you  will  send  me 
those  diamonds,  which  will  suffice  to  insure  me  an  in- 
dependent livelihood,  by  my  old  nurse  Urraca,  the 
only  person  in  my  household  whom  I  intend  to  keep 
about  me  ...  No  other  creature  knows  how  to 
make  my  chocolate  properly. 

During  our  short-lived  revolution,  my  constant 
labours  had  cut  down  the  expenses  of  my  life  to  the 
merest  necessaries,  and  the  salary  of  my  office  sufficed 
for  them.  You  will  find  my  income  for  those  two 
years  in  your  steward's  keeping.  This  sum  of  money 
is  my  property.  The  marriage  of  a  Duque  de  Soria 
entails  a  large  outlay.  So  we  will  divide  it  between  us. 
You  will  not  refuse  your  bandit  brother's  wedding- 
present.  And  besides,  such  is  my  will.  As  the  Barony 
of  Macumer  is  not  held  under  the  King  of  Spain,  it 
still  remains  with  me;  and  I  shall  be  able  to  assume  a 

$2 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

name  and  nationality  if  ever  I  should  choose  to  be- 
come any  one  again.  God  be  praised,  this  ends  our 
business!  The  House  of  Soria  is  safe! 

Just  at  this  moment,  in  which  I  become  Baron  de 
Macumer  and  nothing  more,  the  French  artillery  is 
booming  out  its  greeting  to  the  Due  d'Angouleme. 
You  will  understand,  sir,  wherefore  I  break  off  my 
letter. 

October. 

When  I  arrived  here  I  had  not  ten  double  pistoles 
in  the  world.  He  must  be  a  shabby  statesman  who, 
in  the  midst  of  misfortunes  he  has  not  averted,  gives 
selfish  thought  to  his  own  fortune.  The  vanquished 
Moor  has  his  horse  and  the  desert;  the  Christian 
whose  hopes  are  shattered,  the  monastery  and  a  hand- 
ful of  gold  pieces.  Yet,  so  far,  my  resignation  is  no 
more  than  weariness.  I  am  not  so  near  the  cloister 
as  to  give  no  thought  to  life.  Ozalga,  on  the  merest 
chance,  had  given  me  a  few  letters  of  introduction, 
among  them  one  for  a  bookseller,  who,  to  our  fellow- 
countrymen,  is  very  much  what  Galignani  is  to  the 
English  here.  This  man  has  found  me  eight  pupils  at 
three  francs  a  lesson.  I  go  to  each  pupil  every  second 
day.  So  I  give  four  lessons  and  earn  twelve  francs 
a  day — a  great  deal  more  money  than  I  need.  When 
Urraca  arrives,  I  shall  make  some  Spanish  exile  happy 
by  turning  over  my  pupils  to  him.  I  live  in  the 
Rue  Hillerin-Bertin,  in  the  house  of  a  poor  widow 
who  takes  boarders.  My  room  looks  southward  over  a 
little  garden.  I  hear  no  noise,  I  see  green  trees,  and  I 

53 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

don't  spend  more  than  a  piastre  a  day.  The  calm  and 
pure  delights  I  discover  in  this  existence  are  quite  an 
astonishment  to  me. 

From  sunrise  till  ten  o'clock,  I  smoke,  and  drink 
my  chocolate,  sitting  by  my  window  and  looking  at 
two  Spanish  shrubs — a  broom,  standing  out  against  a 
mass  of  jessamine,  gold  on  a  white  background,  a  sight 
that  will  always  stir  the  soul  of  any  descendant  of  the 
Moors.  At  ten  o'clock  I  start  forth  to  give  my 
lessons  until  four.  Then  I  come  home  to  my  dinner, 
and  after  that  I  smoke  and  read  till  bedtime.  I  can  go 
on  leading  this  life — in  which  solitude  and  company, 
labour  and  meditation,  all  bear  a  part — for  a  very  long 
time.  So,  Don  Fernando,  you  may  be  happy;  my 
abdication  is  an  accomplished  fact,  and  there  has  been 
no  backward  glance,  no  after-regret  as  in  the  case  of 
Charles  V,  nor  any  longing  to  play  the  old  part  again, 
as  in  Napoleon's.  Five  days  and  nights  have  gone  by 
since  I  made  my  will.  Seen  through  my  meditations, 
they  are  like  a  thousand  years.  Greatness,  titles, 
wealth,  are  to  me  as  though  they  had  never  been. 
Now  that  the  barrier  of  respect  that  parted  us  is  bro- 
ken down,  I  can  open  my  heart  to  you,  dear  boy.  That 
heart,  hidden  under  its  impenetrable  mask  of  gravity, 
is  full  of  tenderness  and  of  a  power  of  devotion  which 
have  found  no  outlet.  But  no  woman — not  even  she 
who  was  destined  from  her  cradle  to  be  my  wife — has 
ever  guessed  at  their  existence.  There  lies  the  secret 
of  my  feverish  devotion  to  politics.  Having  no  lady- 
love to  worship,  I  worshipped  Spain.  And  now  Spain, 

54 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

too,  has  failed  me.  Now  that  I  am  nothing,  I  can 
contemplate  the  ruin  of  my  individual  existence,  and 
I  ask  myself  why  life  was  ever  bestowed  on  me,  and 
when  it  will  depart?  Wherefore  has  the  most  chival- 
rous of  all  races  transmitted  its  primitive  virtues,  its 
African  passion,  its  burning  poetry,  to  its  last  scion? 
Is  the  seed  destined  to  die  within  its  rough  husk  with- 
out sending  up  a  single  stalk,  or  scattering  its  Orien- 
tal perfume  from  even  one  tall  bright-hued  calyx? 
What  crime  was  mine,  as  yet  unborn,  that  I  should 
never  have  inspired  love  in  any  human  being?  Was 
I,  then,  from  my  very  birth  but  an  ancient  frag- 
ment, fated  to  be  cast  up  on  some  barren  shore? 
Within  my  own  soul  I  discover  my  hereditary  deserts, 
lighted  by  a  sun  so  fierce  that  no  plant  can  flourish 
on  them.  Here,  more  fittingly  than  in  any  other 
place,  this  proud  remnant  of  a  fallen  race,  this  use- 
less strength,  this  wasted  love,  this  young  man,  old 
before  his  time,  shall  await  the  advent  of  that  closing 
mercy — Death!  Under  these  misty  skies,  alas!  no 
spark  will  rekindle  the  flame  buried  deep  beneath  the 
ashes.  Thus  my  last  words  may  well  be  those  of  Jesus 
Christ,  "  My  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me?  "  A 
terrible  cry,  truly,  which  no  man  has  dared  to  fathom. 
Imagine  then,  Fernando,  what  happiness  I  find  in 
living  afresh  in  Maria  and  in  you.  Henceforward  I 
shall  contemplate  you  with  all  the  pride  of  a  creator 
who  glories  in  his  work.  Love  each  other  faithfully. 
Give  me  no  cause  for  sorrow.  A  storm  between  you 
two  would  hurt  me  more  than  it  would  hurt  your- 

55 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

selves.  Our  mother  had  a  presentiment  that  one  of 
these  days  events  would  crown  her  secret  hopes.  Per- 
haps a  mother's  longing  is  a  contract  between  her  and 
the  Almighty!  And,  then,  she  was  surely  one  of  those 
mysterious  creatures  who  have  the  power  of  holding 
converse  with  Heaven,  and  of  carrying  some  vision 
of  futurity  back  to  earth.  How  often  have  I  read  in 
the  lines  upon  her  forehead  that  she  would  fain  see 
Fernando  the  possessor  of  Felipe's  wealth  and  hon- 
ours! If  I  said  it  to  her,  she  would  answer  me  with 
two  great  tears,  and  give  me  a  glimpse  of  the  wounds 
of  a  heart  which  should  have  belonged  wholly  to  each 
one  of  us,  but  which  an  overmastering  love  had  given 
to  you  alone.  This  being  so,  her  spirit  will  surely 
hover  over  your  heads  as  you  bow  them  before  the 
altar.  Will  there  be  one  caress  at  last  for  Felipe, 
Dona  Clara?  Behold  him:  he  gives  you,  best  be- 
loved, all,  even  the  maiden  you  yourself  have  led  un- 
willingly to  his  embrace.  What  I  have  done  is  pleas- 
ing in  the  sight  of  all  women,  of  the  dead,  of  the 
King.  It  is  the  will  of  God.  Therefore,  Don  Fer- 
nando, lift  no  finger  against  it.  Obey  me  and  hold 
your  peace. 

P.  S. — Desire  Urraca  never  to  call  me  anything 
but  Monsieur  Henarez.  Not  a  word  about  me  to 
Maria.  You  must  be  the  only  living  being  ac- 
quainted with  the  secret  of  the  last  converted  Moor, 
in  whose  veins  runs  the  blood  of  the  mighty  stock 
which  sprang  from  the  desert  and  is  about  to  end  in 
solitude.  Farewell! 

56 


VII 

FROM  LOUISE  DE  CHAULIEU  TO  REN^E  DE  MAUCOMBE 

January,  1824. 

WHAT!  You  are  to  be  married  at  once!  But 
was  there  ever  such  a  surprise?  Within  one  month 
you  undertake  to  marry  a  man — without  knowing 
him,  without  knowing  anything  about  him.  The  man 
may  be  deaf — there  are  so  many  ways  of  being  deaf. 
He  may  be  sickly,  tiresome,  unendurable.  Don't  you 
see,  Renee,  what  they  want  of  you?  You  are  neces- 
sary to  them  to  carry  on  the  splendid  line  of  the  De 
1'Estorades,  and  that's  the  whole  story.  You  are  go- 
ing to  turn  yourself  into  a  provincial  lady.  Was  that 
what  we  promised  each  other?  If  I  were  you,  I'd 
rather  row  round  about  the  Isles  of  Hyeres  in  a  caique 
till  some  Algerine  corsair  carried  me  off  and  sold  me 
to  the  Grand  Signior.  That  way  I'd  be  a  Sultana  first 
of  all,  and  then  Sultana  Valide.  I'd  turn  the  seraglio 
upside  down  as  long  as  I  was  young,  and  even  when  I 
was  old.  You  are  only  leaving  one  convent  to  go  into 
another.  I  know  you;  you  are  a  coward,  you'll  enter 
the  married  state  as  submissively  as  a  lamb.  Be  ruled 
by  me.  Come  up  to  Paris,  we'll  drive  all  the  men  wild, 
and  we  shall  end  by  reigning  like  two  queens.  Within 

57 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

three  years,  my  dearest  love,  your  husband  will  be  able 
to  get  himself  elected  Deputy.  I  know  now  what 
a  Deputy  is.  I'll  explain  it  to  you.  You  will  play  ex- 
ceedingly well  upon  that  instrument.  You'll  be  able 
to  live  in  Paris,  and  to  become,  as  my  mother  says,  "  a 
fashionable  woman."  Oh,  I'll  certainly  not  leave  you 
in  your  country-house! 

For  the  last  fortnight,  my  dear,  I  have  been  living 
the  life  of  the  gay  world.  One  evening  at  the  Italiens, 
the  next  at  the  Grand  Opera,  and  on  to  a  ball  every 
night.  Ah,  society  is  like  a  fairy  play.  The  music  at 
the  Italiens  enchants  me,  and  while  my  whole  being 
floats  in  the  most  divine  delight,  I  myself  am  admired, 
scanned  through  opera-glasses.  But  with  one  glance  I 
make  the  boldest  of  the  young  men  drop  his  eyes.  I 
have  seen  some  charming  young  men.  Well,  there  is 
not  one  of  them  who  takes  my  fancy,  not  one  who  in- 
spires me  with  the  emotion  I  feel  when  I  hear  Garcia 
sing  his  splendid  duet  with  Pellegrini  in  Otello. 
Heavens,  how  jealous  Rossini  must  have  been  to  have 
expressed  jealousy  so  admirably!  What  a  passionate 
ring  there  is  in  II  mio  cor  si  divide.  All  this  is  Greek 
to  you,  who  haven't  heard  Garcia.  But  you  know 
how  jealous  I  can  be!  What  a  poor  playwright  is  this 
Shakespeare!  Otello  falls  in  love  with  glory — he  wins 
victories,  he  gives  orders,  he  parades  up  and  down, 
and  goes  hither  and  thither,  leaving  Desdemona  alone 
in  a  corner,  and  she,  who  sees  him  preferring  the  inan- 
ities of  public  life  to  her  own  self,  never  grows  angry! 
Forsooth,  such  a  sheep  deserves  to  be  slaughtered! 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Let  the  man  I  condescend  to  love  dare  to  do  anything 
except  love  me  back!  I  am  all  for  the  lengthy  ordeals 
of  ancient  chivalry.  I  look  on  that  churlish  young 
nobleman  who  found  fault  because  his  sovereign  lady 
sent  him  to  fetch  her  glove  out  of  the  lion's  den,  as  a 
very  foolish  and  impertinent  young  fellow.  I've  no 
doubt  she  had  reserved  some  exquisite  blossom  of 
love  for  him,  and  he  lost  it,  insolent  boy — after  having 
earned  it.  But  here  I  go  on  chattering  as  if  I  had 
not  a  great  piece  of  news  to  give  you.  My  father  is 
to  represent  the  King,  our  master,  at  Madrid.  I  say 
our  master,  for  I  am  to  be  a  member  of  the  Embassy. 
My  mother  wishes  to  stay  here,  and  my  father  will 
take  me,  so  as  to  have  a  lady  with  him. 

My  dear,  all  this  seems  mighty  simple  to  you — but 
there  are  huge  matters  underneath.  In  this  fortnight, 
I've  discovered  all  the  secrets  of  the  household.  My 
mother  would  go  with  my  father  to  Madrid  if  he  could 
fake  M.  de  Canalis  with  him  as  secretary  to  the  Em- 
bassy. But  the  King  appoints  all  the  secretaries.  The 
Duke  does  not  dare  either  to  displease  the  King,  who 
is  very  despotic,  or  to  cross  my  mother,  and  this  wily 
personage  fancies  he  will  solve  the  difficulties  of  the 
situation  by  leaving  the  Duchesse  here  behind  him. 
M.  de  Canalis,  the  great  poet  of  the  day,  is  the  young 
man  who  cultivates  my  mother's  society,  and,  no 
doubt,  studies  diplomacy  with  her  daily  from  three  to 
five  o'clock.  Diplomacy  must  be  an  interesting  sub- 
jest,  for  he  is  as  assiduous  in  his  attendance  as  a 
gambler  at  the  Stock  Exchange.  The  Due  de  Rhe- 

59 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

tore,  my  eldest  brother — a  solemn,  frigid,  fanciful 
body — would  be  eclipsed  by  his  father  at  Madrid.  So 
he  stays  in  Paris.  Besides,  Miss  Griffiths  knows 
Aphonse  is  devoted  to  an  opera-dancer.  How  any 
man  can  fall  in  love  with  legs  and  pirouettes!  We 
have  noticed  my  brother  is  always  present  at  the 
operas  in  which  Tullia  dances.  He  applauds  the 
creature's  performances,  and  departs  when  they  are 
over.  I  believe  two  bad  women  work  more  harm  in 
a  household  than  an  epidemic  of  the  plague.  As  for 
my  second  brother,  he  is  with  his  regiment,  and  I've 
not  seen  him  yet.  Thus  it  comes  about  that  I  am  des- 
tined to  be  the  Antigone  of  one  of  his  Majesty's 
ambassadors.  Perhaps  I  shall  marry  in  Spain,  and  per- 
haps my  father's  idea  is  to  marry  me  there  without  a 
portion,  exactly  as  you  are  being  married  to  that 
wreck  of  a  former  Garde  d'Honneur.  My  father  sug- 
gested that  I  should  go  with  him,  and  offered  to  lend 
me  his  Spanish  master. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  make  Spanish  marriages?  '* 
The  only  answer  he  vouchsafed  me  was  a  shrewd 
glance.  For  the  last  few  days  he  has  been  pleased  to 
tease  me  during  breakfast;  he  studies  me.  I  dis- 
semble, and  both  as  a  parent  and  a  future  ambassador, 
I  have  imposed  upon  him  cruelly.  Didn't  he  take  me 
for  a  fool?  He  would  ask  me  what  I  thought  of  such 
a  young  man  and  of  certain  young  ladies  whom  I  had 
met  in  various  houses.  I  replied  by  the  most  stupid 
dissertation  on  the  colour  of  the  hair,  the  figure,  the 
expression  of  face  of  the  young  couple  he  men- 

60 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

tioned.  My  father  looked  disappointed  to  find  me 
such  a  simpleton.  He  was  blaming  himself  internally 
for  having  questioned  me. 

"  However,  father,"  I  added,  "  I  have  not  told  you 
what  I  really  think.  Something  my  mother  said  to  me 
a  little  time  ago,  makes  me  fear  I  may  fall  into  some 
impropriety  if  I  talk  of  my  impressions." 

"In  your  own  family,  you  can  speak  openly  and 
fearlessly,"  said  my  mother. 

"  Well,  then,"  I  said,  "  so  far,  the  young  men 
strike  me  as  being  more  interested  than  interesting, 
more  taken  up  with  themselves  than  with  us;  but  they 
certainly  are  far  from  artful.  They  instantly  drop  the 
expression  they  have  put  on  when  they  speak  to  us, 
and  they  imagine,  no  doubt,  that  we  don't  know  ho\v 
to  use  our  eyes.  The  man  who  speaks  to  us  is  the 
lover,  the  man  who  has  just  spoken  to  us  is  the  hus- 
band. As  for  the  young  ladies,  they  are  so  false  that 
the  only  sign  by  which  one  can  possibly  guess  at  their 
character  is  the  way  they  dance.  Their  figures  and 
their  movements  are  the  only  truthful  things  about 
them.  The  thing  that  has  most  startled  me  is  the  bru- 
tality of  smart  society.  When  supper  is  in  question 
things  happen  that  give  me — in  a  minor  degree,  of 
course — an  idea  of  what  a  popular  riot  must  be.  The 
general  selfishness  is  hidden  under  a  very  partial  veil 
of  politeness.  I  had  fancied  Society  was  quite  a 
different  thing.  Women  here  count  for  very  little. 
That,  perhaps,  is  a  remnant  of  Bonaparte's  teach- 
ings." 

61 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

"  Armande  is  making  astonishing  progress,"  said 
my  mother. 

"  Mother,"  I  said,  "  do  you  think  I  shall  always 
ask  you  whether  Mme.  de  Stae'l  is  dead? " 

My  (ather  smiled,  and  rose  from  his  chair. 

Saturday. 

My  dear,  I  haven't  told  you  all.  This  is  what  I 
have  kept  back  for  you.  The  love  of  which  we  dreamt 
must  be  very  deeply  hidden.  I  have  discovered  no 
trace  of  it  anywhere.  True,  I  have  seen  a  few  swift 
glances  interchanged  in  drawing-rooms.  But  how 
cold  they  looked!  Our  love — that  world  of  wonders, 
of  fair  dreams,  of  exquisite  realities  and  suffering  to 
match  them,  those  smiles  that  light  up  all  Nature, 
those  words  that  enchant,  that  happiness  ever  given 
and  received,  the  anguish  of  separation,  the  overmas- 
tering joys  of  the  presence  of  the  beloved — of  these, 
not  a  sign!  Where  do  the  gorgeous  flowers  of  exist- 
ence bud?  Who  is  it  that  lies,  we  or  the  world?  I 
have  seen  young  men  by  the  hundred  already,  and  not 
one  has  inspired  me  with  the  faintest  emotion.  They 
might  have  expressed  all  their  admiration  and  devo- 
tion, they  might  have  fought  battles  for  me — I  should 
have  looked  on  with  a  callous  eye.  Love,  my  dear 
child,  is  so  unusual  a  phenomenon  that  one  may  live 
out  one's  whole  life  without  meeting  the  being  on 
whom  Nature  has  bestowed  the  power  of  making  one 
happy.  This  consideration  makes  me  shiver.  For  if 
the  being  in  question  is  met  late  in  life — what  then? 

.62 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

For  the  last  few  days  I  have  begun  to  feel  terrified 
at  the  thought  of  our  fate,  and  to  understand  why  so 
many  women  carry  about  sad  faces  under  the  layer  of 
rouge  which  gives  them  a  sham  appearance  of  joy  and 
festivity.  Marriage  is  a  mere  chance,  and  such  is 
yours.  Whirlwinds  of  thought  have  passed  over  my 
soul.  To  be  loved  every  day  alike,  yet  with  a  dif- 
ference, to  be  loved  as  fondly  after  ten  years  of  hap- 
piness as  on  the  opening  day.  Such  a  love  must 
cover  years.  There  must  have  been  so  long  a  period 
of  ungratified  longing.  So  many  curiosities  stirred, 
roused  and  then  appeased.  So  many  sympathies  first 
excited  and  then  satisfied.  Are  there  laws  that  gov- 
ern the  creations  of  the  heart,  even  as  there  are  laws 
that  rule  the  visible  works  of  Nature?  Can  cheerful- 
ness live  on  itself?  In  what  proportion  should  the 
tears  and  the  joys  of  love  be  mingled? 

At  such  a  moment  the  chilly  regularity  of  the  fu- 
nereal, uniform,  unchanging  existence  of  the  convent 
has  seemed  possible  to  me;  whereas  the  riches,  the 
splendour,  the  tears,  the  exquisite  delights,  the  merri- 
ment, the  joys,  the  pleasures  of  a  well-matched,  mutual, 
lawful  love,  have  appeared  to  me  impossible.  I  see 
no  room  in  this  town  for  the  sweetness  of  love,  for 
those  blessed  strolls  beneath  the  branching  arbour, 
while  the  full  moon  sheds  her  light  on  the  waters  and 
the  tenderest  entreaties  are  withstood.  Young,  rich, 
beautiful  as  I  am,  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  fall  in  love. 
Love  may  become  my  life,  my  soul,  my  only  occupa- 
tion. Well,  in  these  last  three  months  which  I  have 

63 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

spent  going  to  and  fro  with  the  most  impatient  cu- 
riosity, I  have  found,  amid  all  these  brilliant,  greedy, 
vigilant  eyes  about  me — nothing  at  all.  Not  a  tone 
has  touched  me,  not  one  look  has  flooded  the  world 
with  light  for  me.  Music  alone  has  filled  my  soul,  and 
been  to  me  what  our  friendship  is.  Sometimes,  at 
night,  I  have  spent  a  whole  hour  at  my  window,  gaz- 
ing out  on  the  garden,  longing  for  something  to  hap- 
pen, praying  that  events  might  spring  from  the  un- 
known source  which  sends  them  forth.  Sometimes  I 
have  driven  to  the  Champs  filysees,  fancying  some 
man — the  man  destined  to  stir  my  slumbering  soul — 
would  surely  appear,  and  follow  me,  and  gaze  at  me. 
But  on  those  days  I  have  met  mountebanks  and  gin- 
ger-bread sellers  and  conjurers,  passers-by  hurrying  to 
their  business,  or  lovers  who  fled  the  sight  of  every 
one.  And  I  have  been  tempted  to  stop  them,  and  cry: 
"  You  are  happy;  tell  me  what  love  is?  "  But  I  forced 
the  wild  fancy  back  and  got  me  to  my  carriage,  and 
vowed  I  would  be  an  old  maid.  Love  certainly  is  an 
incarnation,  and  how  difficult  are  the  conditions  un- 
der which  it  must  take  place!  We  are  not  always  cer- 
tain of  agreeing  with  ourselves.  How  will  it  be  when 
there  are  two  of  us?  God  alone  can  solve  the  prob- 
lem. I  begin  to  think  I  will  go  back  to  my  convent. 
If  I  remain  in  the  world,  I  shall  do  things  which  will 
look  like  follies,  for  I  cannot  possibly  accept  the  con- 
ditions I  see  around  me.  All  these  wound  either 
my  delicacy,  my  innermost  proprieties,  or  my  secret 
thoughts.  Ah,  my  mother  is  the  happiest  woman  in 

64 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

the  world.  Her  tall  young  Canalis  adores  her.  My 
dearest,  I  have  a  shocking  longing,  now  and  then,  to 
know  what  my  mother  and  that  young  gentleman 
may  say  to  each  other.  Griffiths  tells  me  she  has  had 
all  these  fancies.  She  has  felt  as  if  she  could  fly  at 
the  women  she  knew  were  happy.  She  has  run  them 
down,  torn  them  to  pieces.  According  to  her,  virtue 
consists  in  burying  all  these  savage  feelings  at  the 
bottom  of  one's  heart.  Then,  what  is  the  bottom  of 
one's  heart?  A  store-room  full  of  all  the  worst  things 
in  us?  I  am  very  much  humiliated  at  not  having  met 
any  one  to  adore  me.  I  am  a  young  lady  in  search 
of  a  husband,  but  I  have  relations,  brothers,  parents, 
who  are  all  touchy.  Ah,  if  that  were  what  kept  the 
men  back,  they  must  be  terrible  cowards.  The  char- 
acters of  Chimene  and  of  the  Cid,  in  Le  Cid,  delight 
me.  What  an  admirable  play  I  And  now,  good-bye. 


VIII 

FROM   THE   SAME  TO   THE   SAME 

January. 

OUR  Spanish  master  is  a  poor  refugee,  who  has 
been  driven  into  exile  by  the  part  he  played  in  the 
revolution  the  Due  d'Angouleme  has  been  sent  to 
•out  down.  We  owe  some  fine  entertainments  here  to 
his  success  in  doing  so.  Though  the  man  is  a  Lib- 
eral, and  no  doubt  of  the  middle  class,  he  has  inter- 
ested me.  I  fancy  he  must  have  been  sentenced  to 
death.  I  try  to  induce  him  to  talk,  so  as  to  get  at 
his  secret.  But  he  is  as  taciturn  as  any  Castilian 
grandee,  as  proud  as  if  he  were  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova, 
and  for  all  that  as  gentle  and  patient  as  an  angel.  He 
does  not  wear  his  pride  outside  him  like  Miss  Griffiths. 
It  is  hidden  in  his  heart.  He  forces  us  to  render  him 
his  due,  by  the  manner  in  which  he  pays  us  his  duty, 
and  severs  himself  from  us  by  the  respect  he  shows  us. 
My  father  will  have  it  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
the  nobleman  about  this  M.  Henarez,  whom  among 
ourselves  he  jokingly  denominates  Don  Henarez. 
When  I  ventured  to  call  him  by  this  name  a  few  days 
since,  he  raised  his  eyes,  which  are  generally  dropped, 
and  shot  two  shafts  of  lightning  at  me  which  quite 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

abashed  me.  My  dear,  he  certainly  has  the  finest  eyes 
that  ever  were  seen.  I  asked  him  whether  I  had  done 
anything  to  annoy  him,  whereupon  he  answered  me 
in  his  own  grand  and  majestic  tongue: 

"  Senorita,  I  only  come  here  to  teach  you  Span- 
ish!" 

I  felt  humiliated,  and  the  colour  sprang  into  my 
face.  I  was  just  going  to  give  him  some  thoroughly 
impertinent  answer,  when  I  remembered  what  our  dear 
mother  in  God  used  to  say  to  us,  and  then  I  replied: 

"  If  you  were  to  reprove  me  in  any  matter,  you 
Would  be  conferring  an  obligation  on  me." 

He  started,  the  blood  rose  to  his  olive  skin,  and  he 
answered  me  in  a  gentle  and  touching  voice: 

"  Religion  must  have  taught  you,  far  better  than  I 
could,  how  to  respect  misfortunes.  If  I  were  a  Don 
in  Spain,  and  I  had  lost  everything  when  Ferdinand 
VII  triumphed,  your  joke  would  have  been  cruel.  But 
if  I  am  nothing  but  a  poor  teacher,  is  it  not  a  heartless 
jest?  Neither  of  these  are  worthy  of  a  high-born 
lady." 

I  took  his  hand  as  I  said: 

"  Then  I  will  appeal  to  religion  to  make  you  forget 
my  fault." 

He  bowed  his  head,  opened  my  Don  Quixote  and 
sat  himself  down. 

This  little  incident  threw  me  into  greater  confu- 
sion than  all  the  looks,  the  compliments,  the  remarks 
of  which  I  was  the  object  the  night  when  I  was  most 
admired.  During  the  lesson  I  looked  carefully  at  the 

6; 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

man,  who  was  quite  unconscious  of  my  scrutiny;  he 
never  raises  his  eyes  to  look  at  me.  I  then  discovered 
that  this  Spanish  master,  whom  we  took  to  be  forty, 
is  quite  young — not  more  than  six  or  eight  and 
twenty.  My  governess,  to  whose  consideration  I  had 
hitherto  left  him,  called  my  attention  to  the  beauty  of 
his  black  hair  and  of  his  teeth,  which  are  like  pearls. 
As  for  his  eyes,  they  are  at  once  as  soft  as  velvet  and 
as  blazing  as  fire.  There  it  ends — otherwise  he  is 
little  and  ugly.  We  used  to  be  told  that  Spaniards 
were  anything  but  cleanly.  But  this  man  is  most  care- 
ful of  his  person,  his  hands  are  whiter  than  his  face; 
he  is  rather  round-shouldered,  his  head  is  very  large 
and  rather  oddly  shaped ;  his  ugliness — he  is  really  very 
clever-looking  in  spite  of  it — is  increased  by  his  face 
being  seamed  with  small-pox  marks.  The  forehead  is 
exceedingly  prominent.  His  eye-brows  meet  and  are 
too  thick,  they  give  him  a  severe  look,  which  repels 
people.  He  has  the  sickly  and  crabbed  countenance 
of  a  person  who  ought  to  have  died  in  childhood,  and 
whose  life  has  only  been  preserved  by  dint  of  endless 
care — just  like  Sister  Marthe.  And  altogether,  as  my 
father  puts  it,  his  face  is  the  face  of  Cardinal  Ximenes 
on  a  small  scale.  My  father  doesn't  like  him,  he  is 
not  at  his  ease  with  him.  There  is  a  natural  dignity 
about  our  master's  manner  which  seems  to  make 
our  dear  Duke  feel  uneasy.  He  cannot  endure  any 
form  of  superiority  in  his  own  vicinity. 

As  soon  as  my  father  knows  Spanish  we  are  to  start 
for  Madrid.    When  Henarez  came  again,  two  days 

68 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

after  my  snubbing,  I  said  to  him,  meaning  it  as  a  sort 
of  sign  of  gratitude: 

"  I  am  quite  certain  you  left  Spain  on  account  of 
some  political  matter.  If  my  father  is  sent  there,  as 
we  hear  he  will  be,  we  should  be  able  to  be  of  some 
service  to  you,  and  to  obtain  your  pardon,  if  any  sen- 
tence has  been  pronounced  on  you." 

"  Nobody  has  it  in  his  power  to  confer  any  obliga- 
tions on  me,"  he  replied. 

"  How,  sir?  "  I  said.  "  Is  that  because  you  do  not 
choose  to  accept  any  obligation,  or  is  it  a  case  of  sheer 
impossibility?  " 

"  It  is  both  one  and  the  other,"  he  answered,  with 
a.  bow,  and  there  was  something  in  his  tone  that  re- 
duced me  to  silence.  My  father's  blood  stirred  in 
my  veins.  This  arrogance  roused  my  ire,  and  I  left 
M.  Henarez  to  himself.  Yet,  my  dear,  there  is 
something  fine  in  his  refusal  to  accept  anything  from 
others.  "  He  wouldn't  even  accept  our  friendship," 
thought  I  to  myself,  as  I  was  conjugating  a  verb. 
Then  I  stopped  short  and  I  told  him  my  thought,  but 
in  Spanish.  Henarez  answered  very  courteously  that 
in  such  a  case  there  must  necessarily  be  an  equality  of 
feeling  which  was  not  possible  under  our  circum- 
stances, and  that  the  question  was  therefore  irrele* 
vant. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  I  asked,  trying  to  break  down 
his  gravity  which  so  provokes  me,  "  that  there  must 
be  equality  as  to  mutual  feeling,  or  equality  of  rank?  " 

Then  he  lifted  those  terrible  eyes  of  his,  and  I 
69 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

dropped  mine.  My  dear,  this  man  is  a  hopeless  riddle. 
He  looked  as  if  he  were  asking  me  whether  my  words 
were  a  declaration.  There  was  an  expression  of  de- 
light and  of  surprise,  and  an  agony  of  uncertainty  in 
his  voice  that  wrung  my  heart.  I  realized  that  things 
which  in  France  are  accepted  at  their  proper  value, 
take  on  a  dangerous  meaning  when  one  has  to  deal 
with  a  Spaniard,  and  I  retired  into  my  shell,  feeling 
rather  foolish.  When  the  lesson  was  over  he  bowed 
to  me,  with  a  look  that  was  full  of  humble  entreaty, 
and  which  said:  "  Don't  make  a  sport  of  an  unhappy 
man."  This  sudden  contrast  with  his  usual  serious 
and  dignified  deportment  made  a  lively  impression 
upon  me.  Isn't  that  shocking  to  think  of  and  to  say. 
I  am  certain  the  man  possesses  depths  of  priceless 
affection. 


IX 

FROM  MME.  DE  I/ESTORADE  TO  MLLE    DE  CHAUI IEU 

December. 

ALL'S  said  and  done,  dear  child.  Tis  Mme.  de 
1'Estorade  who  pens  this  letter  to  you.  But  nothing  is> 
changed  between  you  and  me.  There  is  only  one  girl 
less  in  the  world.  Make  your  mind  easy.  I  pondered 
what  I  did,  and  my  consent  was  not  given  lightly.  My 
life  is  settled  now.  The  certainty  that  I  must  follow  a 
clearly  marked  path  suits  both  my  temper  and  my 
mind.  What  we  call  the  chances  of  life  are  perma- 
nently decided,  for  me,  by  a  great  moral  force.  We 
have  lands  to  cultivate,  we  have  a  dwelling  to  embel- 
lish and  adorn.  I  have  a  home  to  manage  and  enliven, 
there  is  a  man  whom  I  must  reconcile  with  life.  I 
shall  no  doubt  have  a  family  to  care  for,  children  to 
bring  up.  After  all,  life  as  a  rule  cannot  well  be  any- 
thing very  great  or  out  of  the  common.  Certainly 
those  soaring  desires  which  broaden  soul  and  mind 
do  not  enter,  apparently  at  least,  into  these  plans. 
What  is  there  to  prevent  me  from  letting  the  barks  we 
launched  on  the  ocean  of  the  Infinite  pursue  their 
course  thereon?  Yet  do  not  think  that  the  humble 
objects  to  which  I  am  devoting  my  existence  cannot 

71 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

be  touched  by  any  passionate  interest.  To  teach  a 
poor  fellow  who  has  been  the  sport  of  many  tempests 
to  believe  in  his  own  happiness  is  a  noble  undertak- 
ing, and  may  well  suffice  to  modify  the  monotony  of 
my  existence.  I  do  not  foresee  that  it  need  bring  me 
sorrow,  and  I  do  see  that  there  is  good  for  me  to  do. 

Between  ourselves,  I  do  not  love  Louis  de  1'Es- 
torade  with  the  love  which  makes  a  woman's  heart 
throb  when  she  hears  a  man's  footstep,  which  makes  her 
tremble  with  emotion  at  the  very  sound  of  his  voice, 
or  when  his  passionate  glance  falls  upon  her.  But  all 
the  same,  he  is  by  no  means  displeasing  to  me.  What 
am  I  going  to  do,  you  will  inquire,  with  that  instinc- 
tive feeling  for  the  sublime,  with  those  high  thoughts 
we  both  of  us  nurse,  and  which  are  a  bond  between  you 
and  me?  Yes,  that  has  puzzled  me.  Well,  after,  all, 
will  it  not  be  a  noble  thing  to  hide  them  all,  to  use 
them  unknown  to  others,  for  the  good  of  the  family — 
to  turn  them  into  means  to  serve  the  happiness  of  the 
beings  confided  to  us,  and  to  whose  welfare  we  owe 
our  best  devotion?  In  us  women,  the  period  during 
which  these  faculties  are  at  their  best  is  a  very  short 
one.  It  will  soon  be  over;  and  if  my  life  has  not  been 
a  wide  one,  it  will  have  been  calm,  smooth,  and  free 
from  vicissitudes. 

We  are  born  with  an  advantage  all  our  own,  we 
can  choose  between  love  and  maternity.  Well,  I  have 
made  my  choice.  My  children  shall  be  my  gods,  this 
corner  of  the  earth  shall  be  my  El  Dorado.  This  is  all 
I  can  tell  you  to-day.  Thank  you  for  all  the  things 

72 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

you  have  sent  me.  Look  after  those  ordered  in  the 
list  I  inclose  in  this  letter.  I  want  to  bring  an  atmos- 
phere of  luxury  and  elegance  about  me,  with  nothing 
of  the  province  in  it  except  its  enchanting  aspects.  A 
woman  who  lives  in  solitude  can  never  become  provin- 
cial. She  remains  herself.  I  depend  greatly  on  your 
goodness  to  keep  me  abreast  of  all  the  fashions.  My 
father-in-law,  in  his  rapture,  does  everything  I  ask, 
and  is  turning  his  house  upside  down.  We  are  getting 
workmen  from  Paris  and  are  modernizing  the  whole 
place. 


73 


FROM  MLLE.  DE  CHAULIEU  TO  MME.  DE  I/ESTORADB 

January. 

OH,  Renee!  You've  saddened  me  for  several  days 
to  come.  So  that  exquisite  form,  that  proud  and  love- 
ly face,  those  manners  instinct  with  natural  elegance, 
that  nature  enriched  with  precious  gifts,  those  eyes 
in  which  the  soul  may  slake  its  thirst  as  in  a  living 
spring  of  love,  that  heart  overflowing  with  exquisite 
tenderness,  that  great  mind,  all  those  rare  powers,  the 
growth  of  nature  and  of  our  mutual  education,  those 
treasures  meant  to  crown  love  and  longing  with  an 
unexampled  wealth  of  poetry  and  passion — hours 
worth  ordinary  years,  joys  that  with  one  graceful  ges- 
ture should  enslave  a  man  forever — all  are  to  be  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  dulness  of  a  vulgar,  commonplace 
marriage,  lost  in  the  emptiness  of  a  life  that  will  end 
by  becoming  a  weariness  to  you.  I  hate  the  children 
you  will  bear  already!  They'll  be  ugly!  Your  whole 
life  is  mapped  out  beforehand.  There  is  nothing  left 
for  you  to  hope,  or  fear,  or  suffer,  and  if,  on  some 
bright  dazzling  day  you  should  find  yourself  face 
to  face  with  the  being  fated  to  break  the  slumber 
into  which  you  are  now  deliberately  sinking.  .  .  , 

74 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Ah,  the  very  thought  makes  me  shiver!  Well,  at 
all  events  you  have  one  woman  friend.  No  doubt, 
you'll  become  the  guardian  spirit  of  your  valley. 
You'll  learn  all  its  beauties,  you'll  commune  with 
Nature,  you'll  fill  your ,  soul  with  the  greatness  of 
her  works,  the  slow  processes  of  vegetation,  the  swift- 
ness of  human  thought;  and  as  you  gaze  on  all  your 
gay  flowers  you'll  turn  your  mind  inwards  and  gaze 
into  your  own  soul.  Then,  as  your  life  flows  on- 
ward between  your  husband  and  your  children — he 
before  and  they  behind  you — they  yelping,  chatter- 
ing, frolicking;  he,  silent,  and  content — I  can  tell 
beforehand  what  you'll  write  to  me  I  Your  misty 
valley  and  your  hills,  barren  or  crested  with  splendid 
trees;  your  meadow,  that  will  be  such  a  curiosity  in 
Provence,  the  clear  water  divided  into  rivulets,  the 
changeful  play  of  the  lights,  all  the  wide  landscape 
about  you,  which  God  has  touched  with  infinite  va- 
riety, will  remind  you  of  the  infinite  monotony  within 
your  heart!  But  at  least  I  shall  be  there,  my  Renee, 
and  you  will  have  one  friend  whose  heart  will  never  be 
soiled  by  the  smallest  social  pettiness — a  heart  that  is 
yours  utterly. 

Monday. 

My  dear,  my  Spaniard  is  most  entrancingly  melan- 
choly. There  is  something  about  him — a  calmness, 
an  austerity,  a  dignity,  a  depth — which  interests  me 
beyond  all  words.  This  invariable  gravity  and  the 
silence  in  which  the  man  wraps  himself,  challenge 
one's  curiosity.  He  is  mute  and  haughty  as  a  fallen 

,5  VoL  2 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

king.  We  puzzle  over  him,  Griffiths  and  I,  as  if  he 
were  a  riddle.  How  absurd  it  all  is!  A  poor  language 
teacher  triumphantly  rivets  the  interest  which  no 
other  man — not  all  the  well-born  youths,  the  am- 
bassadors and  their  attaches,  the  generals,  the  sub- 
lieutenants, the  peers  of  France,  or  all  their  sons  and 
nephews,  the  Court,  the  city — have  been  able  to 
arouse.  The  man's  reserve  is  most  irritating.  Pride 
overweening  fills  the  gulf  he  strives,  and  successfully, 
to  fix  between  himself  and  us.  And  further,  he 
shrouds  himself  in  darkness.  The  coquetry  is  his. 
The  bold  advances,  mine.  The  queerness  of  the  whole 
affair  amuses  me  all  the  more  because  of  its  unim- 
portance. What  is  a  man — a  Spaniard,  and  a  language 
teacher?  I  don't  feel  the  slightest  respect  for  any 
man,  not  even  for  a  king.  I  consider  we  are  superior 
to  every  man  in  the  world,  even  the  most  justly  fa- 
mous. Oh,  how  I  would  have  ruled  Napoleon!  How 
he  should  have  felt  himself  at  my  mercy,  if  he  had 
cared  for  me! 

Yesterday  I  launched  a  witticism  which  must  have 
stung  Sir  Henarez  to  the  quick.  He  made  no  answer. 
My  lesson  was  just  over.  He  took  up  his  hat  and 
bowed  to  me  with  a  glance  which  made  me  think  he  is 
not  coming  back.  That  suits  me  very  well.  It  would 
be  rather  a  gloomy  business  to  enact  Jean  Jacques 
Rousseau's  Nouvelle  Heloise  over  again.  I've  just 
read  it,  and  it  has  given  me  a  horror  of  love.  That  sort 
of  love,  all  talk  and  discussion,  strikes  me  as  odious. 
Clarissa,  again,  is  much  too  pleased  with  herself  when 

76 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

she  has  written  her  tedious  little  letters;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  my  father  tells  me  Richardson's  book  is  an 
admirable  representation  of  the  ordinary  English- 
woman. Rousseau's  strikes  me  as  being  a  philosophi- 
cal disquisition  in  the  form  of  letters. 

I  believe  love  is  really  a  purely  personal  poem. 
Everything  these  authors  write  on  the  subject  is  at 
once  true  and  false.  Verily,  my  dear  creature,  as 
you,  henceforth,  will  be  able  to  talk  to  me  about  con- 
jugal love,  I  believe  it  will  be  indispensable,  for  the 
sake,  of  course,  of  our  dual  being,  that  I  should  remain 
unmarried  and  have  some  mighty  passion,  so  that 
we  may  arrive  at  the  true  essence  of  existence.  Re- 
late all  your  experiences  with  the  animal  I  denomi- 
nate a  husband,  especially  those  of  the  first  few  days, 
most  faithfully.  I  promise  I'll  report  everything  just 
as  faithfully  to  you,  if  anybody  falls  in  love  with  me. 
Farewell,  my  poor  wasted  darling! 


XI 

F«OM  MME.  DE  L'ESTORADE  TO  MLLE.  DE  CHAtnr.iEor 

LA  CRAMPADE. 

You  make  me  shiver,  you  and  your  Spaniard,  my 
dear  love!  I  write  these  few  lines  to  beseech  you  to 
dismiss  him.  Everything  you  tell  me  about  him 
marks  him  as  belonging  to  the  most  dangerous  spe- 
cies of  that  class  of  individuals  who  venture  every- 
thing, because  they  have  nothing  to  lose.  The  man 
must  not  be  your  lover,  and  cannot  be  your  hus- 
band. I  will  write  more  fully  as  to  the  private  inci- 
dents of  my  marriage,  but  not  until  my  heart  is  re- 
lieved of  the  anxiety  with  -which  your  last  letter  has 
filled  it. 


XII 

FROM  MLLE.  DE  CHAULIEU  TO  MME.  DE  I/ESTORADE 

February. 

MY  DEAR  LOVE:  At  nine  o'clock  this  morning 
my  father  sent  word  that  he  was  waiting  to  see  me.  I 
was  already  up,  and  dressed.  I  found  him  sitting  sol- 
emnly beside  the  fire  in  my  dressing-room,  looking  far 
more  pensive  than  is  his  wont.  He  pointed  to  the 
arm-chair  facing  him.  I  understood  him  at  once, 
dropped  myself  into  it  with  a  gravity  which  aped  his 
own  so  thoroughly  that  he  began  to  smile,  though 
there  was  something  serious  and  melancholy  even 
about  his  smile. 

"  You're  as  clever  as  your  grandmother,  at  all 
events,"  he  said. 

"  Come,  father,"  I  replied,  "  pray  don't  play  the 
courtier  here.  You  have  something  to  ask  of  me." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  in  great  agitation,  and  talked 
to  me  for  a  full  half  hour.  That  conversation,  my 
dear,  is  worth  preserving.  As  soon  as  he  left  me,  I 
sat  down  to  my  table  and  tried  to  reproduce  his  words. 
This  is  the  first  occasion  on  which  my  father  has  re- 
vealed all  his  thoughts  in  my  presence.  He  began  by 
flattering  me.  It  was  anything  but  a  foolish  move  on 

79 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

his  part.  I  could  not  fail  to  be  pleased  with  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  had  understood  me  and  appraised  my 
value. 

"  Armande,"  he  said,  "  you  have  deceived  me 
strangely  and  surprised  me  delightfully.  When  you 
first  came  out  of  your  convent  I  took  you  to  be  a  girl 
like  most  other  girls,  ignorant,  with  no  particular 
ability — the  kind  of  girl  who  is  easily  bought  over 
with  fallals  and  trinkets,  and  who  never  thinks  se- 
riously about  anything." 

"  I  thank  you,  father,  in  the  name  of  youth  in 
general." 

"  Oh,"  he  cried,  with  a  sort  of  statesman-like  ges- 
ture, "  there's  no  such  thing  as  youth  nowadays! 
Your  mind  is  astonishingly  broad,  you  appreciate 
everything  according  to  its  value,  you  are  exceedingly 
clear-sighted,  you  are  excessively  sly.  People  think 
you've  seen  nothing,  when  your  eyes  are  already 
on  the  causes  of  the  effects  at  which  other  folks  are 
staring.  You  are  a  minister  in  petticoats,  you  are  the 
only  person  in  this  house  who  is  capable  of  under- 
standing me,  and  therefore  if  I  want  to  get  any  sacri- 
fice out  of  you,  the  only  thing  for  me  to  do  is  to  use 
you  against  yourself.  Therefore,  I  am  about  to  ex- 
plain to  you,  quite  frankly,  the  plans  I  had  formed, 
and  in  which  I  still  persist.  If  I  am  to  induce  you  to 
adopt  them,  I  must  demonstrate  to  you  that  they 
are  suggested  by  a  noble  motive.  I  am,  therefore, 
obliged  to  enter  with  you  into  political  considera- 
tions which  are  of  the  highest  importance  to  the  mon- 

80 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

archy  and  which  would  very  likely  bore  any  one  but 
yourself.  When  you  have  listened  to  me,  you  shall 
think  over  the  matter  for  a  long  time — I'll  give  you 
six  months  if  you  must  have  them.  You  are  your  own 
absolute  mistress,  and  if  you  refuse  to  make  the  sac- 
rifice I  ask  of  you,  I  shall  accept  your  refusal,  and 
give  you  no  further  trouble." 

Listening  to  this  exordium,  my  dear  soul,  I  grew 
really  and  truly  serious,  and  I  said : 

"  Father,  speak  on." 

Here  is  what  the  statesman  said  to  me: 

"  My  child,  France  is  at  present  in  a  position  the 
precariousness  of  which  is  known  only  to  the  King  and 
to  a  few  of  the  foremost  intelligences  in  the  country. 
But  the  King  is  nothing  but  a  head  without  an  arm. 
And  the  wise  heads  who  are  in  the  secret  of  this  dan- 
ger have  no  authority  over  the  men  who  must  be  used, 
if  a  successful  result  is  to  be  attained.  These  men, 
who  have  been  cast  upon  the  surface  by  the  popular 
vote,  do  not  choose  to  be  used  as  instruments.  Gifted 
though  they  are,  they  still  carry  on  the  work  of  social 
destruction,  instead  of  helping  us  to  strengthen  and 
steady  the  edifice.  In  a  word,  there  are  only  two  par- 
ties left,  the  party  of  Marius  and  the  party  of  Sylla.  I 
fight  for  Sylla,  and  against  Marius.  This,  roughly 
speaking,  is  the  situation.  Looking  at  it  in  detail,  we 
see  that  the  Revolution  still  pursues  its  course;  it  is 
implanted  in  the  laws,  it  is  written  on  the  soil,  it  is  still 
in  the  minds  of  men;  it  is  all  the  more  formidable  be- 
cause the  majority  of  the  councillors  about  the  throne, 

8x 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

seeing  the  Revolution  has  neither  soldiers  nor  money 
at  command,  believe  it  therefore  vanquished.  The 
King  has  a  great  intelligence,  he  perceives  everything 
clearly  enough.  But  he  is  more  and  more  influenced, 
every  day,  by  his  brother's  party,  who  are  all  inclined 
to  go  too  fast.  He  has  not  two  years  to  live,  and  he 
is  laying  his  plans  so  that  he  may  die  in  peace.  Do 
you  know,  my  child,  which  act  of  the  Revolution  has 
worked  the  most  destruction?  You  would  never 
guess  it.  When  the  Revolution  beheaded  Louis  XVI 
it  beheaded  the  father  of  every  family  in  France. 
There  is  no  family  nowadays,  there  is  nothing  but  a 
horde  of  individuals.  When  Frenchmen  insisted  upon 
becoming  a  nation,  they  lost  their  chance  of  being  an 
empire.  When  they  proclaimed  the  right  of  equal 
succession  to  the  paternal  property  they  killed  the 
family  spirit,  and  they  created  the  Exchequer.  But 
they  paved  the  way  for  the  weakening  of  all  superior 
forces,  and  for  the  advent  of  the  blind  rule  of 
the  mob,  for  the  extinction  of  art  and  the  supremacy 
of  personal  interest,  and  they  opened  the  road  to 
foreign  conquest.  We  find  ourselves  between  two 
systems.  We  must  constitute  the  State  either  by 
means  of  the  family,  or  else  by  means  of  personal  in- 
terest. Democracy  or  aristocracy,  discussion  or 
obedience,  Catholicism  or  religious  indifference — 
there,  in  a  few  words,  lies  the  question.  I  belong  to 
that  small  party  which  desires  to  resist  what  is  called 
'  the  people  ' — in  its  own  interests,  of  course.  This  is 
no  longer  a  question  of  feudal  rights,  as  the  simple- 

82 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

minded  are  told,  nor  of  aristocratic  privilege.  The 
matter  affects  the  State,  it  affects  the  very  life  of 
France.  No  country  which  is  not  grounded  in  pa- 
ternal power  has  any  sure  existence.  There  begins 
the  ladder  of  responsibility  and  of  subordination, 
which  rises  up  to  the  King  himself.  The  King  stands 
for  every  one  of  us.  To  die  for  the  King  is  to  die  for 
one's  self,  for  one's  family,  which  itself  never  dies,  any 
more  than  does  the  monarchy.  Every  animal  has  its 
own  instinct;  the  human  instinct  is  the  family  spirit 
A  nation  is  a  strong  nation  when  it  is  composed  of 
rich  families,  every  member  of  which  is  interested  in 
the  defence  of  the  common  treasure,  whether  it  be 
in  money,  glory,  privilege,  or  enjoyment.  A  nation  is 
weak  when  it  is  composed  of  individuals  who  have  no 
community  of  interest,  who  care  little  whether  they 
are  ruled  by  seven  men  or  one,  by  a  Russian  or  a  Cor- 
sican,  so  long  as  each  man  keeps  his  own  field — and 
not  one  of  the  poor  selfish  wretches  perceive  that 
some  of  these  days  his  field  will  be  taken  from  him. 
We  are  tending  towards  a  state  of  things  which  will 
become  horrible,  if  any  misfortune  should  overtake  us. 
Nothing  will  be  left  us  but  penal  laws,  or  fiscal  laws— 
your  money  or  your  life.  The  most  generous  nation 
upon  the  face  of  the  earth  will  cease  to  be  influenced 
by  feeling.  Incurable  sores  will  have  been  developed 
and  fostered  in  its  nature.  Universal  jealousy,  in  the 
first  place.  The  upper  classes  will  be  all  commingled, 
parity  of  desire  will  be  taken  for  equality  of  capacity, 
the  really  superior  men,  who  were  formerly  recognised 

83 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

and  proved  as  such,  will  be  engulfed  in  the  floods  of 
the  '  bourgeoisie.'  There  was  some  chance  of  choosing 
out  one  good  man  among  a  thousand.  It  will  never  be 
possible  to  find  anything  among  three  million,  all 
nursing  the  same  ambition  and  garbed  in  the  same 
livery — that  of  mediocrity.  This  triumphant  horde 
will  not  perceive  that  over  against  it  will  be  ranged 
another  and  a  redoubtable  mob — that  of  the  peasant 
proprietors.  Twenty  millions  of  acres,  all  living  and 
moving  and  arguing,  listening  to  nothing,  ever  ask- 
ing for  more,  standing  in  the  way  of  everything,  with 
a  whole  force  of  brute  power  at  its  command." 

"  But,"  said  I,  interrupting  my  father,  "  what  can 
I  do  for  the  State?  I  don't  feel  the  smallest  inclina- 
tion to  play  Jeanne  d'Arc  for  the  family  idea,  and  per- 
ish at  the  convent  stake." 

"  You're  a  mischievous  little  wretch,"  said  my 
father.  "  If  I  talk  sense  to  you,  you  give  me  jokes, 
and  when  I  jest,  you  talk  to  me  as  if  you  were  an 
ambassador." 

"  Love  lives  on  contrasts,"  quoth  I. 

And  he  laughed  till  he  cried. 

"  You'll  think  over  what  I  have  just  explained  to 
you.  You  will  notice  how  I  prove  my  confidence  and 
how  honourably  I  treat  you  by  speaking  to  you  as  I 
have  spoken,  and  it  may  be  that  events  will  serve  my 
plans.  I  know  that,  so  far  as  you  are  concerned, 
these  same  plans  are  offensive  and  even  iniquitous. 
And,  indeed,  it  is  less  from  your  heart  and  your  imag- 
ination than  from  your  good  sense  that  I  hope  for 

84 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

sanction.  I  have  noticed  more  reason  and  good  sense 
in  you  than  I  have  seen  in  any  other  person." 

"  When  you  say  that  you  praise  yourself,"  I  said 
with  a  smile,  "  for  I  really  am  your  daughter." 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  "  I  could  not  be  inconsist- 
ent. The  end  justifies  the  means,  and  we  have  to  set 
an  example  to  every  one  else.  Therefore  you  must 
not  have  any  fortune  until  that  of  your  younger 
brother  is  secured,  and  I  desire  to  use  all  your  capital 
to  entail  an  income  on  him." 

"  But,"  I  resumed,  "  you  do  not  forbid  me  to  live 
as  I  choose,  and  find  my  own  happiness,  if  I  leave  my 
fortune  to  you?  " 

"  Ah,"  he  replied,  "  so  long  as  the  life  you  desire 
does  no  prejudice  to  the  honour,  the  dignity  and,  I 
may  add,  the  glory  of  your  family!  " 

"  Why,"  I  exclaimed,  "  you're  stripping  me  very 
promptly  of  that  remarkable  good  sense  of  mine!  " 

"  Nowhere  in  all  France,"  said  he  bitterly,  "  shall 
we  find  a  man  who  will  marry  a  portionless  girl  of  the 
highest  birth  and  settle  a  fortune  on  her.  If  such  a 
husband  were  to  offer  himself  he  would  belong  to  the 
parvenu  class.  With  regard  to  that  point  my  ideas  are 
those  of  the  eleventh  century." 

"  And  mine,  too,"  I  answered.  "  But  why  do 
you  dishearten  me?  Are  there  no  old  peers  of 
France?  " 

"  You're  mighty  advanced,  Louise,"  he  cried. 
Then,  with  a  smile,  he  kissed  my  hand  and  left  me. 

I  had  received  your  letter  that  very  morning,  an<? 
85 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  brides 

it  had  just  made  me  think  of  that  very  abyss  into 
which  you  declare  I  may  possibly  fall.  A  voice  within 
me  seemed  to  cry:  "  You  will  fall  into  it! "  I  had 
therefore  taken  my  precautions.  Henarez  does 
dare  to  look  at  me,  my  dear,  and  his  eyes  disturb  me. 
They  give  me  a  sensation  which  I  can  only  compare  to 
one  of  profound  terror.  One  oughtn't  to  look  at  that 
man  any  more  than  at  a  toad.  Like  it,  he  is  hideous 
and  fascinating.  For  the  last  two  days  I  have  been 
debating  whether  I  wouldn't  tell  my  father  simply 
that  I  didn't  choose  to  learn  Spanish  and  have  Hena- 
rez dismissed.  But  after  all  my  bold  resolutions  I  fear 
I  want  to  be  stirred  by  the  horrible  sensation  I  have 
when  I  see  the  man,  and  I  say:  "  Just  once  more  and 
then  I'll  speak."  My  dear,  there's  something  most 
penetrating  and  sweet  about  his  voice,  his  speech  is 
like  Fodor's  singing.  His  manners  are  simple,  with- 
out the  slightest  affectation,  and  what  teeth!  Just 
now,  as  he  was  about  to  leave  me,  he  thought  he  no- 
ticed the  interest  that  I  take  in  him,  and  he  made 
a  gesture,  most  respectfully  indeed,  as  if  he  would 
have  taken  my  hand  to  kiss  it.  But  he  checked 
himself,  as  though  startled  by  his  own  boldness  and 
the  gulf  he  would  have  crossed.  Slight  as  the  move- 
ment was  I  guessed  its  meaning.  I  smiled,  for  nothing 
is  more  touching  than  to  see  the  impulse  of  an  inferior 
nature  which  thus  retires  within  itself.  There  is  so 
much  audacity  in  the  love  of  a  bourgeois  for  a  high- 
born girl.  My  smile  gave  him  courage ;  the  poor  man 
began  looking  for  his  hat  without  seeing  it.  He 

86 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

didn't  want  to  find  it,  and  I  brought  it  to  him  very 
gravely.  His  eyes  were  wet  with  unshed  tears.  That 
short  moment  held  a  world  of  things — and  thoughts. 
So  well  did  we  understand  each  other,  that  I  held  out 
my  hand  for  him  to  kiss.  Perhaps  that  told  him  love 
might  bridge  the  abyss  between  us.  Well,  I  don't 
know  what  moved  me  to  do  it.  Griffiths  had  turned 
her  back  to  us.  I  stretched  out  my  white  hand  to 
him  haughtily,  and  I  felt  the  heat  of  his  burning  lips 
tempered  by  two  great  tears. 

Ah,  dearest  angel,  I  sat  on  there,  exhausted,  in 
my  arm-chair,  thinking.  I  was  happy,  and  I  can't 
possibly  explain  how  or  why.  What  I  felt  was  poetry. 
My  condescension,  of  which  I  am  ashamed  now, 
seemed  to  me  something  noble.  He  had  bewitched 
me — there's  my  excuse! 

Friday. 

The  man  really  is  very  good-looking!  His  speech 
is  cultured,  his  intelligence  is  remarkably  superior. 
My  dear,  his  explanation  of  the  structure  not  only  of 
the  Spanish  language,  but  of  every  other,  and  of  hu- 
man thought,  is  as  masterly  and  as  logical  as  though  he 
were  Bossuet  himself.  French  seems  to  be  his  mother- 
tongue.  When  I  expressed  my  surprise  at  this,  he 
answered  that  when  he  was  very  young  he  had  been 
brought  to  France,  to  Valengay,  with  the  King  of 
Spain.  What  change  has  taken  place  within  this  man's 
soul?  He  is  quite  altered;  he  came  to  me  simply 
dressed,  but  looking  exactly  like  some  great  gentle- 
man out  for  his  morning  walk.  All  through  the  lesson 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

his  intellect  flashed  like  a  beacon,  he  displayed  all  his 
eloquence.  Like  some  tired  being  whose  strength 
had  come  back  to  him,  he  disclosed  to  me  the  inmost 
feelings  he  had  so  carefully  hidden  hitherto.  He  told 
me  the  story  of  a  poor  wretch  of  a  serving-man  who 
had  let  himself  be  killed  for  the  sake  of  one  glance 
from  a  Queen  of  Spain. 

"  All  he  could  do  was  to  die,"  I  said. 

This  answer  filled  his  heart  with  joy,  and  the  look 
in  his  eyes  absolutely  terrified  me. 

That  night  I  went  to  a  ball  given  by  the  Duchesse 
de  Lenoncourt.  The  Prince  de  Talleyrand  was  there. 
I  made  a  charming  young  fellow,  a  M.  de  Vande- 
nesse,  ask  him  whether  any  one  of  the  name  of  He- 
narez  had  been  among  the  guests  at  his  country- 
place  in  1809.  He  answered: 

"  Henarez  is  the  Moorish  name  of  the  Soria  family, 
which  claims  descent  from  Abencerrages,  who  em- 
braced Christianity.  The  old  Duke  and  his  two  sons 
accompanied  the  King.  The  eldest  son,  the  present 
Duque  de  Soria,  has  just  been  stripped  of  all  his  pos- 
sessions, honours,  and  grandeeships  by  King  Ferdi- 
nand, who  thus  wreaks  an  old-standing  spite.  The 
Duke  made  a  huge  mistake  when  he  undertook  to 
serve  as  Constitutional  Minister  with  Valdez.  Luck- 
ily, he  escaped  from  Cadiz  before  the  Due  d'Angou- 
leme  arrived,  for  in  spite  of  all  his  good-will,  the  Duke 
would  not  have  been  able  to  save  him  from  the  King's 
fury." 

This  answer,  which  the  Vicomte  de  Vandenesse 
88 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

carried  back  to  me  word  for  word,  gave  me  much  food 
for  reflection. 

I  cannot  describe  the  anxiety  in  which  I  spent  the 
time  until  my  next  lesson,  which  took  place  this 
morning.  During  the  first  fifteen  minutes  of  this 
lesson  I  kept  asking  myself,  as  I  watched  him,  whether 
he  was  a  Duke  or  a  bourgeois,  without  being  able  to 
make  anything  of  it.  He  seemed  to  guess  my 
thoughts  as  fast  as  they  came  into  being,  and  to  take 
delight  in  misleading  them.  At  last  I  could  bear  it  no 
longer.  I  suddenly  put  aside  my  book,  and  breaking 
off  the  translation  I  had  been  making,  I  said  to  him,  in 
Spanish: 

'  You  are  deceiving  us,  sir.  You  are  no  poor 
liberal  citizen;  you  are  the  Duque  de  Soria!  " 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  answered,  with  a  melancholy 
gesture,  "  unhappily  I  am  not  the  Duque  de  Soria." 

I  understood  all  the  despair  he  put  into  that  word 
"  unhappily."  Ah,  my  dear,  I  am  certain  no  other 
man  will  ever  be  able  to  impart  so  much  passion  and 
expression  to  a  single  word.  He  had  dropped  his  eyes 
and  dared  not  look  at  me  again. 

"  M.  de  Talleyrand,"  I  said,  "  in  whose  house  you 
spent  your  years  of  exile,  admits  of  no  alternative 
for  a  Henarez,  between  being  Duque  de  Soria  in  dis- 
grace, or  a  servant." 

He  lifted  up  his  eyes  and  showed  me  two  black, 
shining  furnaces,  orbs  that  blazed  and  yet  were  filled 
with  humiliation.  At  that  moment  the  man  seemed 
to  me  to  be  on  the  rack. 

89 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

"  My  father,"  he  said,  "  was,  indeed,  the  servant  of 
the  King  of  Spain." 

Griffiths  could  not  comprehend  this  method  of 
study;  there  were  alarming  silences  between  each 
question  and  answer. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  are  you  a  nobleman  or  a  bour- 
geois"? " 

"  You  know,  Sefiorita,  that  in  Spain  even  the  beg- 
gar is  nobly  born." 

This  reserve  nettled  me.  Since  the  previous 
lesson  I  had  prepared  myself  one  of  those  entertain- 
ments which  appeal  to  the  imagination.  I  had  written 
a  letter  in  which  I  had  formulated  the  ideal  portrait  of 
the  man  whom  I  should  choose  to  be  my  lover,  and  I 
intended  to  ask  him  to  translate  it.  Up  to  the  present, 
I  had  been  translating  from  Spanish  into  French,  not 
from  French  into  Spanish.  I  mentioned  this  fact  to 
him,  and  then  I  asked  Griffiths  to  fetch  me  the  last 
letter  I  had  received  from  one  of  my  girl  friends. 

"  By  the  effect  my  programme  produces  upon 
him,"  thought  I  to  myself,  "  I  shall  find  out  what 
blood  runs  in  his  veins." 

Taking  the  paper  from  Griffiths's  hands,  I  said: 
"  Let  me  see  if  I  have  copied  it  properly  " — for  it  was 
all  in  my  own  handwriting.  Then  I  laid  the  sheet,  or 
if  you  choose,  the  snare,  in  front  of  him,  and  I  watched 
him  while  he  read. 

"  The  man  I  could  love,  my  dear,  must  be  un- 
bending and  haughty  with  other  men,  but  gentle  with 
all  women.  His  eagle  glance  will  instantly  quell 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

anything  that  approaches  ridicule.  He  will  have  a 
smile  of  pity  for  those  who  would  joke  at  sacred 
things,  more  especially  those  things  which  constitute 
the  poetry  of  the  soul,  and  without  which  life  would 
be  nothing  but  a  dreary  reality.  I  have  the  deepest 
scorn  for  those  who  would  cut  us  off  from  the  spring 
of  those  religious  sentiments  which  are  so  rich  in  con- 
solation, and  therefore  his  faith  must  have  all  the  sim- 
plicity of  a  child's,  together  with  the  unalterable  con- 
viction of  an  intelligent  man  who  has  searched  out  the 
grounds  of  his  belief.  His  mind,  fresh  and  original, 
must  be  free  from  affectation  and  love  of  display.  He 
will  never  say  anything  too  much,  nor  anything  inap- 
propriate. It  would  be  as  impossible  to  him  to  weary 
others  as  to  be  weary  with  himself,  for  he  will  carry  a 
wealth  of  interest  within  him.  All  his  thoughts  must 
be  noble,  high,  chivalrous,  without  a  touch  of  selfish- 
ness. Everything  he  does  will  be  marked  by  a  total 
absence  of  calculation  or  self-interest.  His  faults  will 
spring  from  the  very  breadth  of  his  ideas,  which  will  be 
above  those  of  his  time.  In  every  point  I  should  de- 
sire to  find  him  in  advance  of  his  epoch.  Full  of  the 
delicate  kindness  due  to  all  weak  creatures,  he  will  be 
good  to  every  woman,  but  very  slow  to  fall  in  love 
with  any.  He  will  consider  that  matter  as  one  far  too 
serious  to  permit  of  its  being  played  with.  Thus  he 
might  possibly  spend  his  whole  life  without  really  lov- 
ing any  woman,  although  himself  possessing  all  the 
qualities  which  should  inspire  the  deepest  passion. 
But  if  he  should  once  meet  with  his  ideal  woman — the 

9* 


The   Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

woman  seen  in  those  dreams  a  man  dreams  open- 
eyed — if  he  should  find  a  being  who  will  understand 
him,  who  will  fill  his  heart,  and  cast  a  ray  of  glad- 
ness over  all  his  life,  and  shine  on  him  like  a  star 
athwart  the  clouds  of  the  dark,  chill,  frozen  world, 
who  will  impart  an  utterly  new  charm  to  his  existence 
and  strike  chords  within  his  being  which  have  hitherto 
lain  silent — be  very  sure  that  he  will  recognise  and 
value  his  good  fortune.  And  further,  he  will  make  that 
woman  perfectly  happy.  Never,  either  by  word  or 
look,  will  he  grieve  the  loving  heart  which  will  have 
committed  itself  to  his  care  with  the  blind  confidence 
of  the  child  that  slumbers  in  its  mother's  arms.  For 
if  this  sweet  dream  of  hers  were  to  be  broken,  her  heart 
and  her  whole  being  would  be  torn  in  twain  forever. 
It  never  would  be  possible  for  her  to  embark  upon 
that  ocean  without  risking  her  whole  future  on  the 
hazard. 

"  This  man  will  necessarily  possess  the  physiog- 
nomy, the  appearance,  the  deportment  and,  in  a  word, 
the  manner  of  doing  things,  small  and  great,  peculiar 
to  persons  of  a  superior  stamp,  who  are  all  simple  and 
unpretending.  His  face  may  be  ugly,  but  his  hands 
beautiful.  A  faint  smile,  ironic  and  scornful,  wilt 
curve  his  upper  lip  at  the  sight  of  those  for  whom 
he  cares  not,  but  on  those  he  loves  he  will  shed  the 
bright  and  heavenly  beam  of  a  glance  expressive  of 
the  soul  within." 

"  Senorita,"  he  said,  in  Spanish,  and  in  a  voice 
that  shook  with  emotion,  "  will  you  allow  me  to  keep 

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The   Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

this  paper  in  memory  of  you?  This  lesson  is  the  last 
I  shall  have  the  honour  of  giving  you,  and  the  teach- 
ings of  this  written  sheet  may  become  a  rule  of  con- 
duct to  all  eternity.  I  left  Spain  as  a  penniless  fugi- 
tive, but  my  family  has  now  remitted  me  a  sum  of 
money  sufficient  for  my  needs — I  shall  have  the 
honour  of  sending  some  Spaniard  to  fill  my  place 
here." 

It  was  as  though  he  said  to  me,  "  The  play  is 
over."  He  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  gesture  that  had  a 
wonderful  dignity  about  it,  and  left  me  overwhelmed 
by  the  astounding  delicacy  peculiar  to  men  of  his 
class.  He  went  downstairs  and  sent  in  to  ask  if  he 
could  speak  to  my  father. 

While  we  were  at  dinner  my  father  said  to  me, 
with  a  smile: 

"  Louise,  you  have  been  taking  Spanish  lessons 
from  a  man  who  was  formerly  Minister  to  the  King  of 
Spain,  and  who  has  been  sentenced  to  death." 

"  The  Duque  de  Soria,"  said  I. 

"  Duke!  "  replied  my  father;  "  he's  that  no  longer. 
He  now  takes  the  title  of  Baron  de  Macumer,  from  a 
fief  he  still  holds  in  Sardinia.  He  strikes  me  as  being 
rather  an  oddity." 

"  Don't  dishonour  a  man  who  is  your  equal,  and 
who,  I  believe,  has  a  noble  heart,  by  applying  to  him  a 
word  which,  as  you  use  it,  always  implies  derision  and 
disdain." 

"  Baroness  de  Macumer! "  exclaimed  my  father, 
with  a  mocking  look. 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Instinctively  I  dropped  my  eyes. 

"  Why,"  said  my  mother,  "  Henarez  must  have 
met  the  Spanish  Ambassador  upon  the  doorstep." 

"  Yes,"  replied  my  father,  "  the  Ambassador 
asked  me  whether  I  was  conspiring  against  the 
King,  his  master,  but  he  greeted  the  grandee  of 
Spain  with  deep  respect,  and  placed  himself  at  his 
disposal." 

All  this,  dear  Mme.  de  TEstorade,  happened  a  fort- 
night ago,  and  for  a  whole  fortnight  I  have  not  seen 
this  man,  who  loves  me — for  the  man  does  love  me! 
What  is  he  doing  with  himself?  I  wish  I  were  a  fly, 
or  a  mouse,  or  a  sparrow.  I  wish  I  could  see  him 
alone,  where  he  lives,  without  his  seeing  me.  There 
is  a  man  to  whom  I  can  say,  "  Go  and  die  for  me! " 
and  he  is  capable  of  going — at  least  I  think  so.  At 
jast  there  is  a  man  in  Paris  round  whom  my  thoughts 
nover,  and  whose  glance  fills  my  innermost  soul  with 
brightness.  Oh,  but  this  is  an  enemy  whom  I  must 
trample  under  foot !  What !  can  there  be  a  man  with- 
out whom  I  cannot  live,  who  is  necessary  to  my  exist- 
ence? You  are  married,  and  I'm  in  love.  Only  four 
months,  and  these  two  turtle-doves  who  had  soared  so 
high  have  fallen  down  into  the  slough  of  reality! 

Sunday, 

Yesterday  at  the  Italiens  I  felt  somebody  was  look- 
ing at  me.  My  eyes  were  drawn  as  by  magic  towards 
two  shining  orbs  that  blazed  like  two  jewels  out  of  a 
dark  corner  of  the  orchestra.  Henarez  never  took  his 

94 


The  Memoirs  of   Two  Young  Brides 

eyes  off  me;  the  wretch  has  sought  out  the  only  place 
in  the  theatre  whence  he  could  see  me,  and  there 
he  is  established!  I  don't  know  what  his  political 
powers  may  be,  but  in  love-making  he  is  a  genius. 

"  Voila,  belle  Renee,  a  quel  point  nous  en  sora- 
mes,"  as  the  great  Corneilie  says. 


XIII 

FROM  MME.  DE  I/ESTORADE  TO  MLLE.  DE  CHAULIEU 

LA  CRAMPADE,  February. 

I  WAS  obliged  to  wait  a  little  before  writing  to 
you,  my  dear  Louise,  but  now  I  know,  or  I  should 
rather  say,  I  have  learned,  many  things,  and  for  the 
sake  of  your  future  happiness  I  must  make  them 
known  to  you.  The  difference  between  a  young  girl 
and  a  married  woman  is  so  great,  that  the  girl  is  no 
more  capable  of  conceiving  it,  than  a  married  woman  is 
capable  of  becoming  a  girl  again.  I  preferred  marrying 
Louis  de  TEstorade  to  going  back  to  the  convent. 
That  much  is  quite  clear.  After  I  had  once  guessed 
that  if  I  did  not  marry  Louis  I  should  have  to  go 
back  to  my  convent,  I  was  obliged,  in  young  girl's 
parlance,  "  to  make  up  my  mind  to  it."  My  mind 
once  "  made  up,"  I  set  to  work  to  consider  my  posi- 
tion, so  as  to  turn  it  to  the  best  possible  account. 

To  begin  with,  the  seriousness  of  the  undertaking 
filled  me  with  terror.  Marriage  is  a  matter  of  one's 
whole  life;  love  is  a  matter  of  pleasure.  But,  then, 
marriage  still  endures  after  pleasure  has  passed  away, 
and  it  gives  birth  to  interests  far  dearer  than  those  of 
the  man  and  woman  it  binds  together.  It  may  be, 

96 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

then,  that  the  only  thing  necessary  to  a  happy  mar- 
riage is  that  sort  of  friendship  which,  for  the  sake  of 
the  sweetness  it  brings,  overlooks  many  a  human  im- 
perfection. There  was  nothing  to  prevent  my  feel- 
ing affection  for  Louis  de  1'Estorade.  Once  I  re- 
solved never  to  seek  in  marriage  those  passionate  de- 
lights on  which  we  used  to  dwell  so  much  and  with 
such  dangerous  enthusiasm,  I  felt  a  sense  of  the  sweet- 
est calm  within  me.  "  If  I  cannot  have  love,  why 
should  I  not  seek  for  happiness?  "  said  I  to  myself, 
"  and  besides,  I  am  loved,  and  I  will  permit  myself  to 
be  loved.  There  will  be  no  servitude  about  my  mar- 
riage, it  will  be  a  perpetual  rule.  What  disadvantage 
can  this  state  of  things  present  to  a  woman  who  as- 
pires to  be  absolute  mistress  of  herself?  " 

This  important  point  of  being  married,  and  yet 
not  married,  was  settled  in  a  conversation  between 
Louis  and  myself,  during  which  the  excellence  of  his 
character  and  the  goodness  of  his  heart  were  both  re- 
vealed to  me.  I  greatly  desired,  my  darling,  to  pro- 
long that  fair  season  of  love  and  hope  which,  inas- 
much as  it  involves  no  active  enjoyment,  leaves  the 
virginity  of  the  soul  untouched.  To  grant  nothing  as 
a  duty  or  in  obedience  to  a  law,  to  be  a  free  agent,  to 
preserve  my  own  free-will — how  sweet  and  noble  that 
would  be!  A  compact  of  this  nature — one  quite  op- 
posed to  that  of  the  law  and  even  that  of  the  sacra- 
ment— could  only  be  arrived  at  between  Louis  and 
myself.  This  difficulty,  the  first  on  my  horizon,  was 
the  only  one  that  delayed  the  celebration  of  my  mar- 

97 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

riage.  Although  from  the  very  outset  I  had  been  de- 
termined to  accept  everything  rather  than  go  back  to 
the  convent,  it  is  in  our  nature  to  ask  for  the  greater 
advantage  after  we  have  obtained  the  least.  And  you 
and  I,  dear  creature,  are  the  sort  of  women  who  want 
everything.  I  kept  watching  my  Louis  out  of  the 
corner  of  my  eye,  saying  to  myself,  Has  misfortune 
made  his  heart  good,  or  bad?  By  dint  of  study  I  dis- 
covered that  his  love  for  me  amounted  to  a  downright 
passion.  Once  I  had  obtained  the  status  of  an  idol, 
when  I  saw  him  turn  pale  and  tremble  if  I  even  glanced 
coldly  at  him,  I  realized  that  I  might  venture  on  any- 
thing. Of  course  I  carried  him  off,  far  from  the  old 
people,  to  take  long  walks,  during  which  I  searched 
out  his  heart  in  the  most  prudent  fashion.  I  made 
him  talk;  I  made  him  tell  me  his  ideas,  his  plans,  his 
thoughts  for  our  future.  My  questions  revealed  so 
much  preconceived  opinion,  and  made  so  direct  an  on- 
slaught on  the  weak  points  of  that  hateful  life  d  deux, 
that  Louis,  as  he  has  since  told  me,  was  terrified  at 
the  thought  that  any  maiden  could  know  so  much. 
As  for  me,  I  listened  to  his  answers,  the  confusion  of 
which  proved  him  one  of  those  people  whom  terror 
renders  helpless.  I  ended  by  perceiving  that  chance 
had  given  me  an  adversary,  whose  inferiority  was  deep- 
ened by  the  fact  that  he  had  an  inkling  of  what  you 
so  proudly  denominate  "  the  greatness  of  my  mind." 
Broken  down  by  suffering  and  misfortune,  he  looked 
upon  himself  as  something  not  far  from  a  wreck,  and 
was  torn  by  hideous  fears.  To  begin  with,  he  is  thirty- 

98 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

seven  and  I  am  seventeen,  and  he  could  not  survey  the 
twenty  years  between  us  without  alarm.  Then,  as 
you  and  I  have  agreed,  I  am  very  beautiful,  and 
Louis,  who  shares  our  opinion  on  this  subject,  could 
not  realize  how  sorely  suffering  had  robbed  him  of  his 
youth  without  a  sensation  of  bitter  regret.  Finally, 
he  felt  that  I,  as  a  woman,  was  much  superior  to  him- 
self as  a  man.  These  three  patent  items  of  inferiority 
had  undermined  his  confidence  in  himself.  He  feared 
he  might  not  make  me  happy,  and  believed  I  had  ac- 
cepted him  to  avoid  a  worse  fate.  One  evening  he 
said  shyly,  that  but  for  my  dread  of  the  convent  I 
would  not  have  married  him. 

"  That  is  true,"  I  answered  gravely. 

My  dear  friend,  he  made  me  feel  the  first  throb 
of  emotion  with  which  a  man  can  inspire  us  women. 
My  very  heart  was  wrung  by  the  two  great  tears  that 
rose  to  his  eyes. 

"  Louis,"  I  went  on  consolingly,  "  it  rests  with 
you  to  turn  this  marriage  of  convenience  into  a  mar- 
riage to  which  I  could  give  my  full  consent.  What  I 
am  going  to  ask  of  you  demands  a  much  greater  sac- 
rifice on  your  part  than  the  so-called  '  servitude  of 
love ' — when  that  is  sincere.  Can  you  rise  to  the 
level  of  friendship,  as  I  understand  it?  A  man  has 
only  one  real  friend  in  his  life,  and  I  would  be  that 
friend  to  you.  Friendship  is  the  bond  between  twin 
souls,  one  in  their  strength,  and  yet  independent  of 
each  other.  Let  us  be  friends  and  partners,  to  go 
through  life  together.  Leave  me  my  absolute  inde- 

VoL  2 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

pendence.  I  do  not  forbid  you  to  inspire  me  with  the 
love  you  say  you  feel  for  me,  but  I  do  not  desire  to  be 
your  wife  except  of  my  own  free-will.  Make  me  de- 
sire to  give  over  my  free-will  to  you,  and  I  will  sacri- 
fice it  to  you  that  instant.  You  see,  I  do  not  forbid 
you  to  import  passion  into  our  friendship,  nor  to  dis- 
turb it  with  words  of  love,  and  I,  on  my  part,  will 
strive  to  make  our  affection  perfect.  Above  all  things 
spare  me  the  discomfort  the  rather  peculiar  position 
in  which  we  shall  find  ourselves  might  bring  upon  me 
in  the  outer  world.  I  do  not  choose  to  appear  either 
capricious  or  prudish,  for  I  am  neither,  and  I  believe 
you  to  be  so  thorough  a  gentleman  that  I  hereby 
offer  to  keep  up  the  outward  appearance  of  married 
life." 

My  dear,  never  did  I  see  a  man  so  delighted  as 
Louis  was  with  this  proposal.  His  eyes  began  to 
shine — happiness  had  dried  up  all  his-tears. 

"  Consider,"  I  said,  as  I  closed  the  conversation, 
"that  there  is  nothing  so  very  extraordinary  about 
what  I  am  asking  you  to  do.  The  condition  I  propose 
arises  out  of  my  intense  desire  to  possess  your  esteem. 
Supposing  you  were  to  owe  your  possession  of  me 
merely  to  the  marriage  service,  would  it  be  a  great  sat- 
isfaction to  you,  in  later  days,  to  reflect  that  your  long- 
ings had  been  crowned  by  legal  or  religious  formalities, 
and  not  by  my  free-will?  Supposing  that  while  I  did 
not  love  you,  and  owing  simply  to  that  passive  obedi- 
ence the  duty  of  which  my  much-honoured  mother 
has  just  impressed  upon  me,  I  should  bear  a  child. 

100 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Do  you  believe  that  I  should  love  that  child  as  dearly 
as  one  that  was  born  of  a  mutual  desire?  Even  if  it 
be  not  indispensable  that  there  should  be  love  like 
the  passion  of  a  pair  of  lovers  between  a  husband  and 
wife,  you  will  surely  admit,  sir,  that  it  is  indispensable 
there  should  be  no  dislike.  Well,  we  shall  soon  be 
placed  in  a  very  perilous  position.  We  are  to  make 
our  home  in  the  country.  Should  we  not  consider 
how  unstable  all  passion  is?  May  not  wise  folk  arm 
themselves  against  the  misfortunes  arising  from  such 
changes?  " 

He  was  wonderfully  taken  aback  to  find  me  so  rea- 
sonable and  so  full  of  sound  reasoning,  but  he  gave 
me  his  solemn  promise,  and  thereupon  I  took  his  hand 
and  squeezed  it  affectionately. 

We  were  married  at  the  end  of  that  week.  Once 
I  was  sure  of  my  freedom,  I  applied  myself  with  the 
greatest  cheerfulness  to  the  dull  details  of  all  the 
various  ceremonies.  I  was  able  to  be  my  own  natural 
self,  and  I  may,  indeed,  have  been  considered  what 
would  have  been  called  in  the  language  we  used  at 
Blois,  "  a  very  knowing  little  body."  Onlookers  took 
a  young-girl,  delighted  with  the  novel  and  promising 
position  in  which  she  had  contrived  to  place  herself, 
for  a  notable  woman  of  the  world.  My  dear  soul,  I 
had  beheld,  as  in  a  vision,  all  the  difficulties  of  my  fu- 
ture life,  and  I  was  sincerely  bent  on  making  this  man 
happy.  Now,  in  the  solitude  in  which  we  are  to 
live,  if  the  woman  does  not  rule,  the  marriage  state 
must  soon  become  unendurable.  The  woman  in  such 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

a  case  should  possess  all  the  charms  of  the  mistress 
and  all  the  good  qualities  of  the  wife.  Does  not  the 
uncertainty  which  hangs  about  enjoyment  prolong 
the  illusion  and  perpetuate  those  flattering  delights 
to  which  every  human  creature  clings,  and  so  rightly 
clings?  Conjugal  love,  as  I  understand  it,  drapes 
the  woman  in  a  robe  of  hope,  endues  her  with  sover- 
eign power,  inspires  her  with  exhaustless  strength  and 
with  a  vivifying  warmth  which  causes  everything 
about  her  to  blossom.  The  more  completely  she  is 
mistress  of  herself,  the  more  certain  she  is  to  bring 
love  and  happiness  into  being.  But  I  have  specially 
insisted  that  all  our  private  arrangements  shall  be 
veiled  in  the  deepest  mystery.  The  man  who  is  sub- 
jugated by  his  wife  is  deservedly  covered  with  ridicule. 
A  woman's  influence  must  be  altogether  secret.  In 
our  sex,  charm  and  mystery  are  synonymous  in  all 
things.  Though  I  set  myself  to  raise  up  this  crushed 
nature  and  bring  back  their  lustre  to  the  good  quali- 
ties I  have  discovered  in  it,  I  intend  it  all  to  seem  the 
spontaneous  growth  of  Louis's  character.  This  is 
the  task,  a  not  ignoble  one,  I  have  set  before  me. 
The  glory  of  it  may  well  suffice  a  woman.  I  am 
almost  proud  in  my  possession  of  a  secret  that 
fills  my  life,  a  plan  which  shall  absorb  all  my  efforts, 
which  shall  be  hidden  from  every  one,  save  yourself 
and  God. 

Now  I  am  nearly  happy,  and  perhaps  I  should  not 
be  altogether  so,  if  I  could  not  tell  all  I  feel  to  one 
loving  heart.  For  how  can  I  say  it  to  him?  My  hap- 

IO2 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

piness  would  wound  him,  I  have  been  obliged  to  hide 
it  from  him.  My  dear,  he  is  as  delicate  in  feeling  as 
any  woman,  like  all  men  who  have  suffered  acutely* 
For  three  months  we  lived  just  as  we  had  lived  before 
we  married.  As  you  will  easily  believe,  I  studied  num- 
berless little  personal  questions  which  have  much 
more  to  do  with  love  than  any  one  would  believe.  In 
spite  of  my  coldness,  his  heart  unfolded  as  he  grew 
bolder.  I  saw  the  expression  of  his  face  change  and 
grow  younger — the  refinement  I  introduced  into  the 
household  began  to  be  reflected  in  his  person.  Grad- 
ually I  grew  accustomed  to  him,  I  made  him  my 
second  self.  By  dint  of  looking  at  him,  I  discovered 
the  agreement  between  his  nature  and  his  physiog- 
nomy. The  "  animal  we  call  a  husband,"  as  you  ex- 
press it,  disappeared  from  sight.  One  balmy  evening 
I  perceived  a  lover  whose  words  touched  my  very 
heart,  and  on  whose  arm  I  leant  with  an  unspeakable 
delight.  And,  last  of  all — to  be  as  truthful  with  you  as 
I  would  be  with  God,  whom  no  man  can  deceive — 
curiosity,  stirred,  it  may  be,  by  the  admirable  faithful- 
ness with  which  he  kept  his  oath,  rose  up  within  my 
heart.  Horribly  ashamed,  I  fought  against  myself. 
Alas!  when  dignity  is  the  only  thing  that  holds  one 
back,  the  intellect  soon  pitches  on  some  compromise. 
All  then  was  secret,  as  though  we  had  been  lovers, 
and  secret  it  must  remain  between  us  two.  When 
your  own  marriage  comes,  you  will  applaud  my  discre- 
tion. Yet  nothing,  be  sure,  was  lacking  that  the  most 
exquisite  passion  could  desire,  nor  the  unexpected- 

103 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

ness,  which  is,  in  a  manner,  the  glory  of  that  special 
moment.  The  mysterious  charm  for  which  our  imag- 
ination longs,  the  impulse  which  is  our  excuse,  the 
half-extorted  consent,  the  ideal  delights  over  which 
we  have  dimly  dreamt,  and  which  overwhelmed  our 
being  before  we  yield  to  their  reality,  every  one  of 
these  seductions,  in  all  their  most  enchanting  forms, 
was  there. 

I  will  confess  to  you  that  in  spite  of  all  these 
glories  I  have  once  more  stipulated  for  my  freedom, 
and  I  will  not  tell  you  all  my  reasons  for  so  doing. 
You  will  certainly  be  the  only  creature  upon  whom 
even  this  half  confidence  shall  be  bestowed.  The 
woman  who  gives  herself  to  her  husband,  whether  he 
adores  her  or  not,  would,  I  think,  act  very  foolishly 
were  she  not  to  conceal  her  feelings  and  her  personal 
judgment  concerning  marriage.  The  sole  delight  I 
have  known,  and  it  has  been  a  heavenly  joy,  comes 
from  the  certainty  that  I  have  restored  life  to  that 
poor  fellow,  before  I  give  life  to  his  children.  Louis 
has  recovered  his  youth,  his  strength,  and  his  spirits. 
He  is  a  different  man.  Like  some  fairy,  I  have  wiped 
out  the  very  memory  of  his  misfortunes.  I  have  meta- 
morphosed him;  he  has  become  a  charming  fellow. 
Now  that  he  is  sure  I  care  for  him,  he  displays  his 
mental  powers  and  constantly  reveals  fresh  qualities. 
To  be  the  constant  spring  of  a  man's  happiness — 
when  that  man  knows  it,  and  mingles  gratitude  with 
his  love — ah,  my  dear,  this  certainly  develops  a  force 
within  the  soul  far  surpassing  that  of  the  most  absorb- 

104 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

ing  passion.  This  force,  impetuous  and  lasting,  uni- 
form yet  varied,  evolves  the  family — that  splendid 
work  of  womanhood  which  I  can  realize  now  in  all  its 
fruitful  duty.  The  old  father  is  not  stingy  any  more. 
He  gives  everything  I  ask,  unquestioningly.  The 
servants  are  light-hearted;  it  seems  as  though  Louis's 
happiness  were  reflected  over  the  whole  of  this  house- 
hold which  I  rule  by  love.  The  old  man  has  brought 
himself  into  harmony  with  all  the  improvements.  He 
would  not  let  himself  be  a  blot  upon  my  dainty  ar- 
rangements. To  please  me,  he  has  assumed  the  dress, 
and  with  the  dress,  the  habits  of  the  present  day.  We 
have  English  horses,  we  have  a  brougham,  a  barouche 
and  a  tilbury.  Our  servants  are  simply  but  carefully 
turned  out,  and  we  have  the  reputation  of  being 
spendthrifts.  I  apply  my  wits  (joking  apart)  to  keep- 
ing my  house  economically  and  giving  the  greatest 
possible  amount  of  enjoyment  for  the  smallest  possi- 
ble expenditure.  I  have  already  shown  Louis  how 
necessary  it  is  for  him  to  build  roads,  so  as  to  gain  a 
reputation  of  a  man  who  takes  an  interest  in  the  wel- 
fare of  his  neighbourhood.  I  am  making  him  fill  up 
the  gaps  in  his  education.  I  hope  soon,  by  the  influ- 
ence of  my  family  and  his  mother's,  to  see  him  elected 
to  the  Conseil  General  of  his  department.  I  have 
told  him  quite  frankly  that  I  am  ambitious,  and  that 
I  do  not  think  it  at  all  a  bad  thing  that  his  father 
should  continue  to  look  after  our  property  and  save 
money,  because  I  want  him  to  apply  his  whole  mind 
to  politics;  that  if  we  have  children  I  desire  to  see 

105 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

them  all  comfortable  and  well  provided  for  under 
Government;  that  under  pain  of  losing  my  regard 
and  affection,  he  must  become  Deputy  for  this  de- 
partment at  the  next  election;  that  my  family  will 
back  up  his  candidature,  and  that  we  shall  then  have 
the  pleasure  of  spending  all  our  winters  in  Paris.  Ah, 
my  angel,  the  fervour  of  his  obedience  showed  me 
how  deeply  I  was  loved!  And,  to  conclude,  he  wrote 
me  this  letter  yesterday  from  Marseilles,  whither  he 
has  gone  for  a  few  hours: 

"  When  you  gave  me  leave  to  love  you,  my  gentle 
Renee,  I  believed  in  happiness.  But  now  I  see  no  end 
to  it.  The  past  is  nothing  but  a  vague  memory,  a 
shadow,  the  necessary  background  to  the  brightness 
of  my  felicity.  The  transports  of  my  love  are  so  in- 
toxicating, when  I  am  near  you,  that  they  deprive  me 
of  power  of  expressing  it.  All  I  can  do  is  to  admire 
and  worship  you.  It  is  only  when  I  am  far  away  that 
words  come  back  to  me.  You  are  perfectly  beautiful, 
and  with  a  beauty  so  grave,  so  majestic,  that  time 
will  scarcely  change  it.  And  though  the  love  be- 
tween man  and  wife  depends  not  so  much  on  beauty 
as  on  feeling  (and  how  exquisite  is  yours!),  let  me 
tell  you  that  this  certainty  that  you  will  always  be 
beautiful  gives  me  a  joy  that  deepens  with  every 
glance  I  cast  upon  you.  The  harmonious  and  digni- 
fied lines  of  your  noble  face  show  that  there  is  some- 
thing ineffably  pure  under  the  warm  colour  of  the 
skin. 

"  The  radiance  of  your  dark  eyes  and  the  bold  out- 
106 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

lines  of  your  brow  reveal  how  lofty  are  your  virtues, 
how  steadfast  your  loyalty,  how  strong  your  heart  to 
face  the  storms  of  life,  if  they  should  burst  upon  us. 
Nobility  is  your  distinctive  quality.  I  am  not  so  vain 
as  to  think  I  am  the  first  to  tell  you  this,  but  I  write 
the  words  so  that  you  may  clearly  know  I  realize  the 
full  value  of  the  treasure  I  possess.  The  little  you 
may  grant  me  will  always  make  my  happiness — a  long 
time  hence,  even  as  now.  For  I  feel  all  the  grandeur 
of  our  mutual  promise  to  preserve  our  freedom.  We 
shall  never  owe  any  token  of  tenderness  to  anything 
but  our  own  will.  We  shall  be  free,  in  spite  of  the 
closest  chains.  I  shall  be  all  the  prouder  of  winning 
you  afresh,  now  that  I  know  the  value  you  set  upon 
that  conquest.  Never  will  you  be  able  to  speak,  or 
breathe,  or  act,  or  think  without  increasing  my  admi- 
ration for  your  physical  charms  and  mental  graces! 
There  is  a  something  in  you,  I  scarce  know  what,  a 
something  divine,  wise,  enchanting,  which  reconciles 
reason,  honour,  pleasure,  and  hope,  and  gives  love 
a  horizon  wider  than  life  itself.  Oh,  my  angel,  may 
the  spirit  of  love  be  faithful  to  me,  and  may  the  future 
be  filled  with  that  exquisite  delight  wherewith  you 
have  embellished  everything  about  me!  When  will 
motherhood  come  to  you,  that  I  may  see  you  rejoice 
in  the  fulness  of  your  life? — that  I  may  hear  that 
sweet  voice  of  yours  and  those  delicate  thoughts,  so 
fresh  and  so  strangely  well  expressed,  bless  the  love 
which  is  my  glory,  and  from  which,  as  from  a  magic 
spring,  I  have  drawn  new  life.  Yes,  I  will  be  all  you 

107 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

desire.  I  will  become  one  of  the  useful  men  of  my 
country,  and  all  the  glory  of  my  success  shall  be  yours, 
since  its  sole  and  quickening  essence  lies  in  your  satis- 
faction!" 

This,  my  dear,  is  how  I  am  training  him  up.  His 
style  is  somewhat  unformed;  it  will  be  better  in  an- 
other year.  Louis  is  still  in  his  first  transports.  I 
await  that  regular  and  continuous  sensation  of  happi- 
ness which  must  result  from  a  well-assorted  marriage, 
when  the  woman  and  the  man,  sure  of  each  other  and 
thoroughly  acquainted,  have  discovered  the  secret 
of  varying  the  infinite,  and  touching  the  very  ground- 
work of  existence  with  a  magic  spell.  I  have  a  glimpse 
of  the  glorious  secret  of  truly  wedded  spouses,  and 
I  am  determined  to  possess  it  fully.  This  coxcomb, 
you  observe,  fancies  he  is  as  much  loved  as  if  he 
were  not  my  husband.  So  far  I  have  not  reached 
that  point  of  material  attachment  which  enables  one 
to  endure  many  things.  Still,  Louis  is  likeable.  He 
has  an  exceedingly  equal  temper,  and  he  does  things 
of  which  most  men  would  boast  in  very  simple  fashion. 
In  fact,  though  I  am  not  in  love  with  him,  I  feel  I  am 
capable  of  growing  fond  of  him. 

So  here  you  perceive  my  dusky  hair,  those  black 
eyes,  the  lashes  of  which,  so  you  say,  "  unfold  like  sun- 
blinds,"  my  imperial  port,  and  my  whole  person, 
raised  to  the  dignity  of  sovereign  power.  We  shall 
see,  ten  years  hence,  my  dear,  whether  we  are  not 
both  of  us  very  merry  and  very  happy  in  that  great 
Paris,  whence  I  shall  carry  you  now  and  then  to  my 

108 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

lovely  oasis  in  Provence.  Ah,  Louise,  don't  risk  the 
fair  future  that  lies  before  us  both.  Don't  commit  the 
follies  with  which  you  threaten  me.  I  have  married 
an  old  young  man — do  you  marry  a  young  old  man 
in  the  House  of  Peers!  There  is  real  sense  in  that 
idea  of  yours! 


109 


XIV 

FROM  THE  DUQUE  DE  SORIA  TO  THE  BARON  DE 
MACUMER 

MADRID. 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER:  You  have  not  made  me 
Duque  de  Soria  for  me  to  act  otherwise  than  as  Duque 
de  Soria.  If  I  felt  that  you  were  a  wanderer  and  de- 
prived of  the  comforts  which  money  insures  in  every 
place,  you  would  make  my  own  happiness  unendurable. 
Neither  Maria  nor  I  will  consent  to  marry  until  we 
know  you  have  accepted  the  sum  of  money  we  have 
made  over  to  Urraca  for  your  use.  These  two  millions 
are  your  own  savings,  and  Maria's.  Kneeling  side  by 
side  before  the  same  altar,  we  have  prayed — how  fer- 
vently God  alone  knows — for  your  happiness.  Oh, 
my  brother,  surely  our  prayers  will  be  granted!  The 
love  which  you  seek,  and  which  would  be  the  consola- 
tion of  your  exile,  will  be  sent  down  to  you  -from 
Heaven.  Maria  read  your  letter  with  tears,  and  you 
possess  her  deepest  admiration.  As  for  me,  I  have  ac- 
cepted for  our  house — not  for  myself.  The  King  has 
fulfilled  your  expectations.  Ah !  there  was  such  scorn 
in  the  fashion  in  which  you  cast  his  gratification  to 
him,  just  as  a  man  casts  prey  to  wild  beasts,  that  I 
longed  to  avenge  you  by  telling  him  how  your  great- 

IIO 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

ness  has  abased  him.  The  one  thing  I  have  accepted 
for  myself,  my  dearly  loved  brother,  is  my  happiness 
— is  Maria.  For  that  boon,  I  shall  always  be  to  you 
even  as  the  creature  at  the  feet  of  its  Creator.  There 
will  be  a  day  in  my  life,  and  in  Maria's,  as  bright  as 
our  own  happy  marriage — the  day  on  which  we  learn 
that  your  heart  is  appreciated,  that  a  woman  loves 
you  as  you  deserve  and  desire  to  be  loved.  Never 
forget  that  if  you  live  for  us,  we,  too,  live  for  you. 
You  can  write  to  us  in  perfect  safety,  under  cover 
of  the  Nuncio,  and  sending  your  letters  round  by 
Rome.  The  French  Ambassador  in  Rome  will,  no 
doubt,  undertake  to  forward  them  to  the  State  Sec- 
retary, Monsignor  Bemboni,  with  whom  our  Leg- 
ate has  probably  communicated  already.  No  other 
method  would  be  safe.  Farewell,  dear  despoiled 
brother,  beloved  exile!  Be  proud,  at  all  events,  of 
the  bliss  you  have  given  us,  even  if  you  cannot  be 
happy  in  it.  God  will  surely  hearken  to  our  prayers, 
which  are  full  of  you.  FERNANDO. 


Ill 


XV 

FROM  LOUISE  DE  CHAULIEU  TO  MME.  DE  I/ESTORADE 

March, 

AH,  my  angel,  marriage  teaches  philosophy.  .  .  . 
Your  dear  face  must  have  been  yellow  with  envy 
while  you  were  writing  me  those  terrible  sentiments 
about  human  life  and  feminine  duty.  Do  you  really 
think  you'll  convert  me  to  marriage  by  your  pro- 
gramme of  subterranean  toil?  Alack!  is  this  whither 
our  too  learned  reveries  have  led  you?  We  left  Blois, 
robed  in  all  our  innocence  and  armed  with  the  sharp 
arrows  of  thought,  and  now  the  darts  of  our  purely 
theoretical  experience  have  turned  against  your  own 
bosom.  If  I  did  not  know  you  for  the  purest  and  most 
angelic  creature  upon  earth,  I  should  say  that  all  these 
calculations  of  yours  smacked  of  depravity.  How, 
my  dear,  in  the  interest  of  this  country  life  of  yours, 
you  mark  out  your  pleasures  in  regular  fellings.  You 
treat  love  just  as  you  would  treat  your  woods.  Oh,  I 
would  rather  perish  in  the  wild  whirlwinds  of  my  own 
heart  than  live  in  the  barrenness  of  your  learned  arith- 
metic! You  and  I  were  the  two  wisest  of  the  girls,  be- 
cause we  had  given  a  very  great  deal  of  thought  to  a 
very  few  things.  But,  my  child,  a  loveless  philosophy 

112 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

or  the  philosophy  of  a  sham  love,  is  the  most  hideous 
of  all  conjugal  hypocrisies.  Surely  now  and  again  the 
greatest  rule  in  the  world  would  discover  the  owl  of 
wisdom  crouched  beneath  your  roses — an  anything 
but  entertaining  discovery  that,  and  one  which  may 
well  put  the  most  fervent  passion  to  flight.  You  are 
concocting  your  fate,  instead  of  being  its  plaything. 
We  are  each  of  us  taking  a  very  unusual  course.  A 
great  deal  of  philosophy  and  very  little  love,  there's 
yours.  A  world  of  love  and  mighty  little  philosophy, 
there's  mine.  Jean  Jacques'  Julie,  whom  I  took  for  a 
professor,  is  a  mere  student  beside  you.  By  all  that's 
virtuous,  you've  taken  stock  of  life  pretty  thoroughly ! 
Alack,  I  laugh  at  you,  and  maybe  it  is  you  who  are 
right!  You  have  sacrificed  your  youth  in  a  single 
day,  and  you  have  grown  miserly  before  your  time. 
Your  Louis  will  no  doubt  be  a  happy  man.  If  he  loves 
you,  and  I  am  sure  he  does,  he'll  never  discover  that 
you  are  behaving  in  the  interest  of  your  family,  just  as 
the  courtesans  behave  in  the  interests  of  their  pockets. 
And  they  certainly  do  make  men  happy,  if  we  may 
judge  by  the  wild  expenditure  lavished  on  them. 
No  doubt  a  clear-sighted  husband  might  retain  this 
passion  for  you,  but  would  he  not  end  by  feeling 
himself  relieved  from  any  necessity  for  gratitude  to- 
ward a  woman  who  treats  falsehood  as  sort  of  a  moral 
corset,  as  indispensable  to  her  existence  as  the  other 
sort  is  to  her  body?  Why,  my  dear,  love,  in  my  eyes, 
is  the  principle  of  every  virtue,  summed  up  into  the 
image  of  the  Divine  Love.  Love,  like  every  other 

"3 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

principle,  is  no  matter  of  calculation.  It  is  the  infinite 
ether  of  the  soul.  Have  you  not  been  making  an  ef- 
fort to  justify  in  your  own  sight  the  horrible  position 
of  a  girl  who  is  married  to  a  man  for  whom  she  cannot 
feel  anything  beyond  esteem?  Duty — there's  your 
rule  and  measure.  But  is  not  action  spurred  by  ne- 
cessity the  social  teaching  of  Atheism?  Is  not  action 
arising  out  of  love  and  feeling  the  hidden  law  of 
woman?  You  have  turned  yourself  into  the  man,  and 
your  Louis  will  find  himself  the  woman.  Ah,  dearest, 
your  letter  has  plunged  me  into  endless  meditations. 
I  perceive  the  convent  can  never  replace  the  mother 
to  young  girls.  I  beseech  you,  my  noble  dark-eyed 
angel,  so  pure,  so  haughty,  so  grave,  so  exquisite, 
think  over  this  first  outcry  extorted  by  your  letter. 
I  have  consoled  myself  by  considering  that  even  while 
I  lament,  love  has  probably  overthrown  all  the  edifice 
your  arguments  had  built  up.  I  shall  perhaps  be 
worse  than  you,  without  either  reason  or  calculation. 
Passion  is  an  element  whose  logic  must  be  as  merci- 
less as  your  own. 

Monday. 

Yesterday  evening,  just  as  I  was  going  to  bed,  I 
went  to  my  window  to  admire  the  sky,  which  was 
magnificently  clear.  The  stars  were  like  silver  nails 
holding  up  a  blue  curtain.  In  the  silence  of  the  night 
I  heard  somebody  breathing,  and  by  the  dim  light  of 
the  stars  I  beheld  my  Spaniard  perched  like  a  squirrel 
on  the  branches  of  one  of  the  trees  on  the  sidewalk  of 
the  boulevard,  no  doubt  gazing  at  my  window.  The 

114 


The  Memoirs  of"  Two  Young  Brides 

first  effect  of  this  discovery  was  to  send  me  back  into 
my  room,  feeling  as  if  all  the  strength  had  gone  out 
of  my  hands  and  feet.  But  beneath  this  sensation  of 
terror  I  was  conscious  of  a  most  exquisite  delight.  I 
was  crushed,  and  still  I  was  happy.  Not  one  of  those 
witty  French  gentlemen  who  desire  to  marry  me  has 
had  the  wit  to  come  and  spend  his  nights  in  an  elm 
tree  and  risk  being  caught  by  the  watchman.  My 
Spaniard,  of  course,  had  been  there  for  some  time. 
Aha!  he  doesn't  give  me  lessons;  he  wants  some  one 
to  give  them  to  him.  Well,  he  shall  have  them.  If 
he  only  knew  all  I  have  said  to  myself  about  his  ap- 
parent ugliness!  I've  talked  philosophy,  Renee,  as 
well  as  you.  I've  considered  that  there  would  be 
something  horrible  about  loving  a  handsome  man. 
Isn't  that  to  acknowledge  that  love,  which  should  be 
divine,  is  three  parts  a  matter  of  the  senses?  When 
I  had  got  over  my  first  alarm,  I  stretched  my  neck  be- 
hind the  window-pane  to  see  him  again,  and,  just  like 
my  luck,  he  blew  a  letter,  cunningly  wound  round  a 
good-sized  bit  of  lead,  into  the  window,  through  an 
air-gun. 

"  Good  heavens,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  will  he  think 
I  left  my  window  open  on  purpose?  If  I  shut  it 
suddenly  now,  I  shall  look  like  his  accomplice." 

I  did  better  than  that.  I  came  back  to  the  win- 
dow as  if  I  had  never  heard  the  nosie  of  his  note 
falling,  as  if  I  had  not  noticed  anything  at  all,  and  I 
said  aloud :  "  Do  come  and  look  at  the  stars,  Miss 
Griffiths." 

"5 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Now  Griffiths  was  sound  asleep  like  a  respectable 
old  rrtaid.  When  the  Moor  heard  me  he  disappeared 
as  swiftly  as  a  shadow.  He  must  have  been  nearly  as 
dead  of  fright  as  I  had  been,  for  I  never  heard  him 
go  away,  and  he  no  doubt  remained  some  time  at 
the  foot  of  the  tree.  After  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour, 
which  I  spent  soaring  to  the  blue  vault  of  Heaven 
and  swimming  over  the  wild  ocean  of  curiosity,  I 
shut  up  my  window  and  got  into  bed,  there  to  un- 
fold the  thin  paper  with  all  the  carefulness  of  a  re- 
storer of  antique  books  at  Naples.  It  burnt  my  fin- 
gers. "  What  a  horrible  power  this  man  has  over 
me!  "  said  I  to  myself, and  instantly  I  held  the  paper  to 
the  light,  meaning  to  burn  it  unread.  .  .  .  An  idea 
made  me  hold  my  hand.  "  What  can  he  write  to  me 
in  secret?  "  Well,  my  dear,  I  burnt  the  letter  up,  for  I 
thought  that  though  every  other  girl  upon  the  earth 
would  have  devoured  it,  I,  Armande  Louise  Marie  de 
Chaulieu,  ought  not  to  read  it. 

The  next  day  he  was  at  his  post  at  the  Italiens. 
But  Constitutional  Prime  Minister  though  he  may 
have  been,  I  do  not  believe  he  read  the  smallest  sign 
of  internal  agitation  in  my  demeanour.  I  behaved 
absolutely  as  if  I  had  neither  seen  nor  received  any- 
thing on  the  previous  night.  I  was  pleased  with 
myself,  but  he  was  very  melancholy.  Poor  man!  in 
Spain  it  seems  so  natural  that  love  should  come  in 
by  the  window.  During  the  entr'acte  he  came  and 
walked  about  the  corridors.  This  was  told  me  by  the 
first  Secretary  of  the  Spanish  Embassy,  who  also  re- 

116 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

lated  an  action  of  his  which  really  is  sublime.  When 
Ae  was  Duque  de  Soria  he  was  to  have  married  one  of 
the  richest  heiresses  in  Spain,  the  young  Princess 
Maria  Heredia,  whose  wealth  would  have  softened  the 
misery  of  his  exile.  But  it  seems  that  in  defiance  of 
the  desire  of  the  two  fathers  who  had  betrothed  them 
in  their  childhood,  Maria  loved  the  younger  de  Soria, 
and  my  Felipe  gave  up  the  Princess  Maria  when  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  stripped  of  everything  by  the 
King  of  Spain. 

"  I  am  sure  he  did  that  great  thing  very  simply," 
said  I  to  the  young  man. 

"  Why,  do  you  know  him?  "  he  answered  art- 
lessly. 

My  mother  smiled. 

"  What  will  become  of  him,  for  he  is  condemned  to 
death? "  I  said. 

"  Though  he's  dead  in  Spain,  he  has  the  right  to 
live  in  Sardinia,"  he  replied. 

"  What,  are  there  tombs  in  Spain,  too?  "  I  re- 
joined, so  as  to  seem  to  take  the  thing  as  a  joke. 

"  In  Spain  there  is  everything — even  Spaniards  of 
the  old  type,"  answered  my  mother. 

"  The  King  of  Sardinia,"  continued  the  young 
diplomat,  "  has  granted  the  Baron  de  Macumer  a  pass- 
port, somewhat  against  the  grain.  But,  after  all,  he 
has  become  a  Sardinian  subject.  He  owns  magnifi- 
cent fiefs  in  Sardinia,  within  which  he  has  powers  of 
life  and  death.  He  has  a  palace  at  Sassari.  If  Ferdi- 
nand VII  were  to  die,  Macumer  would  probably  enter 

117 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

the  diplomatic  service,  and  the  Court  of  Turin,  in 
spite  of  his  youth,  would  give  him  an  Embassy." 

"  Ah,  he  is  young,  then?  " 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle  ...  in  spite  of  his  youth, 
he  is  one  of  the  most  distinguished  men  in  Spain." 

All  the  while  the  Secretary  was  talking  I  was  look- 
ing about  the  theatre  through  my  opera-glass  and 
apparently  paying  him  scant  attention,  but  between 
ourselves  I  was  in  despair  at  having  burnt  that  letter. 
How  does  such  a  man  express  himself  when  he  is 
in  love?  And  he  does  love  me!  To  be  loved  and 
adored  in  secret,  to  feel  that  in  that  building,  where 
all  the  most  important  folk  in  Paris  were  gathered 
together,  there  was  one  man  who  was  my  property, 
though  not  a  soul  knew  it!  Oh,  Renee,  then  I  un- 
derstood this  Paris  life  with  its  balls  and  fetes! 
Everything  appeared  to  me  in  its  true  colours.  When 
one  loves  one  needs  the  presence  of  others,  if  it  be 
only  for  the  sake  of  sacrificing  them  to  the  object  of 
one's  love.  Within  my  being  I  felt  another  happy 
being.  Every  feeling  of  vanity,  my  pride,  my  self- 
love,  all  were  flattered.  God  alone  knows  what  sort 
of  glance  I  cast  upon  the  world  about  me. 

"  Oh,  little  rogue,"  whispered  the  Duchess,  smil- 
ing, in  my  ear. 

Yes,  my  crafty  mother  had  discovered  some  symp- 
tom of  secret  delight  in  my  attitude,  and  I  hauled 
down  my  flag  before  that  clear-sighted  woman. 
Those  three  words  of  hers  taught  me  more  knowl- 
edge of  the  world  than  I  had  picked  up  in  a  year — 

118 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

for  it  is  March  again.  Alas!  in  another  month 
the  Italiens  will  be  closed.  How  are  people  whose 
hearts  are  full  of  love  to  live  without  that  delicious 
music? 

My  dear,  as  soon  as  I  got  home,  with  a  resolve 
that  was  worthy  of  a  Chaulieu,  I  opened  my  window 
wide  to  admire  a  shower  of  rain.  Oh,  if  men  only 
knew  the  seductive  power  of  heroic  actions  over  wom- 
en, they  would  all  be  very  noble — the  veriest  cowards 
would  turn  into  heroes.  The  story  I  had  heard  about 
my  Spaniard  had  fevered  my  blood.  I  felt  certain 
he  was  there,  ready  to  throw  me  another  letter.  And 
this  time  I  burnt  nothing — I  read  it  all.  Here,  then, 
sweet  Madam  Argument,  is  my  first  love-letter — we 
each  have  one  now: 

"  Louise,  it  is  not  for  your  splendid  beauty  I  love 
you.  It  is  not  for  your  brilliant  mind,  your  noble  feel- 
ings, the  infinite  charm  you  give  to  every  action,  nor 
is  it  for  your  pride,  your  royal  scorn  of  everything  that 
does  not  belong  to  your  own  sphere — a  scorn  which 
does  not  affect  your  goodness,  for  your  charity  is  like 
an  angel's.  I  love  you,  Louise,  because  in  all  your  pride 
and  grandeur  you  have  condescended  to  comfort  a 
poor  exile;  because  by  a  gesture,  by  a  look,  you  con- 
soled one  man  for  being  so  far  below  you  that  he 
had  no  claim  on  anything  save  your  pity,  but  that 
a  generous  pity.  You  are  the  only  woman  in  the 
world  whose  eyes  have  softened  as  they  looked  on 
me,  and  since,  when  I  was  nothing  but  a  grain  of 
dust,  you  cast  that  beneficent  glance  on  me,  and 

119 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

thereby  gave  me  what  I  never  obtained,  when  I  had 
all  the  power  to  which  any  subject  can  aspire — I 
would  fain  tell  you,  Louise,  that  you  have  grown  dear 
to  me,  that  I  love  you  unreservedly  and  for  your- 
self, in  a  measure  far  surpassing  the  conditions  you 
yourself  have  formulated  to  define  a  perfect  love. 
Know  then,  my  idol,  whom  I  have  set  in  my  highest 
heaven,  that  the  world  contains  one  scion  of  the  Sara- 
cen race  whose  life  is  yours,  whom  you  may  com- 
mand, as  though  he  were  your  slave,  and  whose  glory 
it  will  be  to  do  your  will.  I  have  given  myself  to 
you  forever — for  the  mere  joy  of  doing  it — for  the 
sake  of  one  glance  of  yours,  for  the  sake  of  the  hand 
you  stretched  out  one  morning  to  your  Spanish 
master.  You  have  a  henchman,  Louise,  and  nothing 
more.  No,  I  dare  not  think  I  ever  can  be  loved,  but 
perhaps  I  may  be  endured,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  my 
devotion.  Ever  since  that  morning  when  you  smiled 
on  me,  like  a  noble  maiden  who  guessed  the  misery 
of  my  betrayed  and  solitary  soul,  I  have  enthroned 
you  in  my  heart.  You  are  the  absolute  sovereign  of 
my  life — the  queen  of  all  my  thoughts,  the  goddess 
of  my  soul,  the  light  that  brightens  my  dwelling,  the 
flower  of  all  my  flowers,  the  perfume  of  the  air  I 
breathe,  the  strength  of  my  blood,  the  soft  ray  be- 
neath which  I  slumber.  One  thought  alone  has  trou- 
bled my  happiness.  You  dreamt  not  you  possessed  a 
limitless  devotion,  a  faithful  arm,  an  unquestioning 
slave,  a  silent  servitor,  a  treasury — for  I  am  nothing 
now  but  the  depository  of  all  I  own.  You  knew  not 

120 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

there  was  a  heart  to  which  you  might  confide  all 
things,  the  heart  of  an  aged  grandparent  of  whom  you 
might  ask  what  you  will,  of  a  father  whose  protection 
you  might  claim,  the  heart  of  a  friend,  a  brother — all 
these  are  lacking  about  you,  as  I  know.  I  have  found 
out  your  secret  loneliness.  My  boldness  springs  now 
from  my  longing  to  make  you  know  how  much  you 
do  possess.  Accept  it  all,  Louise,  and  you  will  give 
me  the  only  life  that  is  possible  for  me  in  this  world — 
a  life  of  devotion.  You  run  no  risk  when  you  clasp 
the  slave's  collar  about  my  neck.  I  will  never  ask  for 
anything  save  the  delight  of  knowing  I  belong  to  you. 
Do  not  even  tell  me  you  will  never  love  me.  That 
must  be  so,  I  know.  I  must  love  you  from  afar,  with- 
out hope,  and  for  myself  alone.  I  greatly  long  to 
know  if  you  will  accept  my  service,  and  I  have 
searched  about  to  discover  some  proof  which  may 
convince  you  there  would  be  no  loss  of  dignity  in 
your  granting  this  prayer  of  mine,  seeing  I  have  been 
your  property  for  many  a  day,  now,  although  you 
knew  it  not.  You  would  give  me  my  answer,  then, 
if,  some  evening  at  the  Italiens,  you  were  to  carry  a 
nosegay  consisting  of  two  camellias,  a  white  one  and 
a  red — the  type  of  a  man's  life  blood,  wholly  devoted 
to  the  service  of  the  purity  he  adores.  That  would 
settle  it  all  forever.  Ten  years  hence — even  as  to- 
morrow— whatever  you  may  desire  that  man  can  do 
will  be  performed  as  soon  as  you  choose  to  lay  your 
commands  on  your  happy  servant, 

"  FELIPE  HENAREZ." 

121 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

P.  S. — My  dear,  you  must  confess  that  these  great 
gentlemen  know  how  to  love.  Isn't  that  the  spring 
of  the  African  lion?  What  restrained  passion!  What 
trust!  What  sincerity!  What  noble-mindedness, 
even  in  his  humility!  I  felt  very  small,  indeed,  and  I 
asked  myself,  half  stunned,  "  What  am  I  to  do?  "  The 
peculiarity  of  a  great  man  is  that  he  throws  all  ordi- 
nary calculations  out.  He  is  sublime  and  touching  at 
once,  artless  and  still  gigantic.  In  one  single  letter,  he 
rises  higher  than  Lovelace  and  Saint  Preux,  in  a  hun- 
dred. Ah,  this  is  genuine  love,  with  nothing  petty 
about  it.  Love  may  exist  or  it  may  not,  but  when  it 
does  it  must  appear  in  all  its  vastness.  This  puts  a 
stop  to  all  my  coquetting.  Refusal  or  acceptance — I 
stand  between  the  two,  without  the  ghost  of  a  pretext 
to  shelter  my  irresolution.  There's  an  end  to  all  dis- 
cussion. This  isn't  Paris;  it  is  Spain,  or  the  East.  It 
is  the  Abencerrage  who  speaks  and  kneels  to  the 
Catholic  Eve,  laying  his  scimitar,  his  horse,  and  his 
own  head  at  her  feet.  Am  I  to  accept  this  remnant  of 
the  Moors.  Read  my  Spanish-Saracen  letter  over  and 
over  again,  my  Renee,  and  you'll  see  that  love  wipes 
out  all  the  stipulations  of  your  philosophy.  Hark  ye, 
Renee,  your  letter  shocks  me;  you've  made  life  look 
vulgar  to  me.  Why  should  I  shuffle?  Am  I  not  mis- 
tress to  all  eternity  of  this  lion  who  has  softened  his 
roar  to  submissive  and  obedient  sighs?  Heavens,  how 
he  must  have  roared  in  his  lair  in  the  Rue  Hillerin- 
Bertin!  I  know  where  he  lives,  I  have  his  card — F. 
Baron  de  Macumer.  He  has  made  it  impossible  for  me 

122 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

to  send  him  any  answer.  All  I  can  do  is  to  throw  two 
camellias  in  his  face.  What  fiendish  cleverness  there 
is  in  a  real,  pure,  simple  love!  Here,  then,  is  the  great- 
est event  in  the  history  of  a  woman's  heart  reduced  to 
an  easy  and  simple  action.  O  Asia,  I've  read  the 
Arabian  Nights  and  here's  their  meaning — two  blos- 
soms, and  that  ends  it  all!  We  sum  up  the  fourteen 
volumes  of  Clarissa  Harlowe  in  a  posy.  His  letter 
makes  me  writhe  just  as  a  cord  twists  in  the  fire.  Will 
you  take  those  two  camellias  or  will  you  not?  Yes 
or  no?  Kill  me  or  give  me  life.  Then  I  hear  a  voice 
cry:  "  Put  him  to  the  test."  And  I  am  going  to 
doit. 


T823  Vol.  a 


XVI 

FROM   THE   SAME  TO  THE   SAME 

March. 

I  AM  dressed  all  in  white.  I  have  white  camellias 
In  my  hair  and  a  white  camellia  in  my  hand.  My 
mother  has  red  camellias  in  hers.  I  can  take  one  from 
her,  if  I  like.  I  have  a  sort  of  longing  to  make  his 
camellia  cost  him  dearer,  by  dint  of  a  little  hesitation, 
and  not  to  make  up  my  mind  till  I  am  on  the  spot.  I 
really  look  lovely.  Griffiths  begged  me  to  let  her 
gaze  at  me  for  a  moment.  The  solemnity  of  the  occa- 
sion and  the  dramatic  nature  of  the  consent  I  am 
giving  have  heightened  my  colour — each  of  my 
cheeks  is  a  camellia  blooming  red  on  white. 

One  o'clock  in  the  Morning. 

Every  soul  admired  me— only  one  knew  how  to 
worship  me.  He  dropped  his  head  when  he  saw  the 
white  camellia  in  my  hand,  and  I  saw  him  turn  as 
white  as  the  flower  after  I  had  taken  a  red  one  from 
my  mother's  bouquet.  To  have  appeared  with  both 
might  have  been  an  accident.  But  my  action  gave 
him  a  direct  reply,  so  I  enlarged  my  acknowledgment. 
The  opera  was  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  as  you  do  not 
know  the  duet  between  the  two  lovers,  you  can't  real- 
ize the  bliss  it  was  for  two  neophytes  in  love  to  listen 

124 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

to  that  divine  expression  of  the  tender  passion.  As 
I  went  to  bed  I  heard  steps  resounding  on  the  pave- 
ment of  the  sidewalk.  Oh,  dearest,  my  heart  is  on 
fire,  and  my  brain  as  well.  What  is  he  doing?  What 
is  he  thinking  about?  Has  he  one  thought,  one 
single  thought,  to  which  I  am  a  stranger?  Is  he  the 
ever-ready  slave  he  has  declared  himself  to  be?  How 
am  I  to  make  sure  of  it?  Has  he  the  very  slightest 
feeling  that  my  acceptance  involves  a  censure,  a 
change  of  any  kind,  an  expression  of  thanks?  I  am 
a  prey  to  all  the  minute  hair-splittings  of  the  female 
character  in  Cyrus,  and  Astrea,  to  the  subtleties  of 
the  Courts  of  Love.  Does  he  know  that  where  love 
is  concerned,  a  woman's  smallest  actions  are  the  out- 
come of  a  whole  world  of  thought,  internal  struggle, 
and  wasted  victories?  What  is  he  thinking  about? 
How  am  I  to  give  him  orders  to  write  me  all  the 
details  of  the  day  every  evening?  He  is  my  slave! 
I  must  give  him  something  to  do,  and  I  mean  to  over- 
whelm him  with  labour. 

Sunday  Morning. 

I  only  slept  a  very  little,  toward  morning.  It  is 
midday  now.  I  have  just  made  Griffiths  write  the  fol- 
lowing letter: 

"To  THE  BARON  DE  MACUMER:  Mile,  de  Chau- 
lieu  desires  me,  sir,  to  ask  you  for  the  copy  of  a  letter 
from  one  of  her  friends,  in  her  own  hand,  which  you 
have  taken  away  with  you.  Believe  me,  etc., 

"  GRIFFITHS." 
125 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

My  dear,  Griffiths  put  on  her  bonnet,  she  went  to 
the  Rue  Hillerin-Bertin,  she  sent  up  this  love-letter  to 
my  slave,  and  he  returned  me  my  programme,  damp 
with  his  tears,  in  an  envelope.  He  has  obeyed  me! 
Ah,  my  dear  soul,  it  must  have  cost  him  something. 
Another  man  would  have  written  me  a  letter  crammed 
with  flattery  and  refused/  But  the  Saracen  has  been 
what  he  promised  he  would  be.  He  has  obeyed! 
This  has  touched  me  even  to  tears. 


126 


XVII 

FROM  THE  SAME  TO  THE  SAME 

Apr  it  ad. 

YESTERDAY  the  weather  was  glorious.  I  dressed 
myself  like  a  girl  who  is  loved  and  desires  to  be  loved. 
My  father,  at  my  request,  has  given  me  the  prettiest 
turnout  to  be  seen  in  Paris — two  dapple-gray  horses, 
and  the  most  elegant  carriage  you  can  conceive.  I 
went  out  in  it  for  the  first  time.  I  looked  like  a  flower 
under  my  sunshade  lined  with  white  silk.  As  I  drove 
up  the  Champs-Elysees  I  saw  my  Abencerrage  com- 
ing towards  me  on  the  most  magnificent  horse.  The 
men,  who  are  nearly  all  of  them  first-class  horse- 
jockeys  nowadays,  were  all  stopping  to  look  at  him 
and  watch  him.  He  bowed  to  me,  and  I  made  him  a 
friendly  and  encouraging  gesture.  He  slackened  his 
horse's  pace,  and  I  was  able  to  say  to  him: 

"  You  will  not  be  vexed  with  me,  Baron,  for 
having  asked  you  to  let  me  have  my  letter  back.  It 
was  useless  to  you.  You  have  outstripped  that  pro- 
gramme already,"  I  added,  in  a  low  voice.  Then  I 
said: 

"  That  horse  of  yours  attracts  a  great  deal  of  at- 
tention." 

"  My  agent  in  Sardinia  sent  it  to   me  out  of 
127 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

sheer  pride,  for  this  Arab  horse  was  born  in  my 
mdquis." 

This  morning,  my  dear,  Henarez  was  riding  an 
English  chestnut,  a  very  fine  horse,  indeed,  but 
which  did  not  attract  every  eye.  The  touch  of  jesting 
criticism  in  my  words  had  been  enough  for  him.  He 
bowed  to  me,  and  I  bent  my  head  slightly  in  response. 
The  Due  d'Angouleme  has  bought  Macumer's 
horse.  My  slave  understood  that  when  he  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  loungers  in  the  street  he  lost 
something  of  the  simplicity  I  desire  for  him.  A  man 
should  be  remarked  on  account  of  himself,  not  be- 
cause of  his  horse  or  any  other  thing  about  him.  To 
have  too  fine  a  horse  seems  to  me  as  absurd  as  to  wear 
a  huge  diamond  in  your  shirt-front.  I  was  delighted 
to  catch  him  in  fault,  and  there  may  have  been  a  touch 
of  vanity  such  as  may  well  be  allowed  a  poor  exile  in 
what  he  did.  All  this  childishness  delights  me.  Oh, 
my  aged  Arguer,  do  my  love  affairs  enchant  you  as 
much  as  your  dreary  philosophy  depresses  me?  Dear 
Philip  II  in  petticoats!  Do  you  find  it  pleasant  driv- 
ing in  my  carriage?  Do  you  note  that  velvet  glance, 
humble  yet  full,  proud  of  his  servitude,  cast  on  me  as 
he  passes  by,  by  that  truly  great  man  who  has  donned 
my  livery  and  always  wears  a  red  camellia  in  his  but- 
tonhole, just  as  I  always  carry  a  white  one  in  my 
hand?  How  love  clears  up  everything!  How  well 
I  understand  Paris!  Now  everything  I  see  full  of 
meaning.  Yes,  love  is  fairer  here,  nobler,  more  fas- 
cinating than  in  any  other  place.  I  have  come  to  the 

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absolute  conclusion  that  I  could  never  tease  nor  dis- 
turb a  fool,  nor  wield  the  slightest  influence  over  one. 
Superior  men  are  the  only  beings  capable  of  under- 
standing us  thoroughly,  and  on  whom  we  can  produce 
any  effect.  Oh,  my  poor  dear,  I  forgot  1'Estorade. 
But  then  didn't  you  tell  me  you  were  going  to  turn 
him  into  a  genius?  I  know  why!  You're  bringing 
him  up  tenderly,  so  that  some  day  he  may  appreciate 
you!  Good-bye.  I'm  rather  wild,  and  I'd  better 
not  go  on. 


129 


XVIII 

FROM  MME.  DE  I/ESTORADE  TO  MLLE.    DE  CHAULIEU 

April. 

SWEET  angel,  or  should  I  not  rather  say,  sweet 
fiend!  Without  intending  it,  you  have  grieved  me, 
and  if  we  were  not  one  in  heart  I  should  say  you  had 
wounded  me — but  does  one  not  wound  one's  self  some- 
times? How  clear  it  is  that  you  have  never  yet  fixed 
your  thoughts  on  that  one  word  indissoluble  as  applied 
to  the  compact  that  binds  the  woman  to  the  man !  I 
will  not  attempt  to  gainsay  philosophers  and  legisla- 
tors. They  are  surely  well  enough  able  to  gainsay  each 
other.  But,  my  dearest,  though  marriage  has  been 
made  irrevocable  by  the  imposition  of  an  unvarying 
and  pitiless  formula,  each  union  is  thereby  rendered 
utterly  different — as  different  as  are  the  individuals 
bound  together.  Every  marriage  has  its  special  pri- 
vate laws.  The  laws  that  govern  a  country  couple, 
the  members  of  which  are  to  remain  perpetually  in 
each  other's  presence,  are  not  those  which  govern  a 
city  household  in  which  existence  is  more  diversi- 
fied by  pleasure.  And  the  laws  that  rule  a  couple 
settled  in  Paris,  where  life  roars  by  like  a  torrent,  can 
never  resemble  those  that  guide  a  married  pair  in 
the  provinces,  where  life  is  so  infinitely  quieter.  While 

130 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

conditions  vary  with  surroundings,  they  vary  much 
more  with  characters.  The  wife  of  a  man  of  genius 
has  only  to  permit  herself  to  be  guided;  and  the  wife  of 
a  fool,  unless  she  is  prepared  to  face  the  most  hideous 
misfortune,  takes  the  reins  into  her  own  hands  if  she 
feels  herself  to  be  cleverer  than  her  husband.  It  may 
be,  after  all,  that  argument  and  reason  land  us  in  what 
some  would  call  depravity.  What  is  this  so-called 
feminine  depravity  but  a  calculation  of  feelings?  A 
reasoning  passion  is  a  depraved  thing.  Passion  is 
beautiful  only  when  it  is  involuntary  and  full  of  those 
noble  outbursts  in  which  selfishness  has  no  place. 
Ah,  sooner  or  later,  my  dear,  you'll  say  to  yourself: 
"  Yes,  deception  is  as  necessary  to  every  woman  as  her 
corset — that  is,  if  deception  means  the  silence  of  the 
woman  who  has  courage  to  hold  her  peace — if  decep- 
tion means  the  calculation  on  which  our  future  hap- 
piness necessarily  depends."  At  her  own  cost,  every 
woman  must  learn  the  social  law,  a  law  incompatible 
in  many  respects  with  the  law  of  Nature.  Women 
marrying  at  our  age  may  bear  a  dozen  lawful  children, 
but  if  we  were  to  bear  them  we  should  commit  a  dozen 
crimes,  we  should  engender  a  dozen  miseries — for 
should  we  not  doom  twelve  beloved  beings  to  pov- 
erty and  despair?  Whereas  two  children  are  two  joys, 
two  blessings,  two  creations  that  harmonize  with  our 
existing  laws  and  customs.  The  natural  law  and  the 
Code  are  at  war,  and  we  ourselves  are  the  field  on 
which  they  fight.  Would  you  call  the  wisdom  of  the 
wife  who  takes  care  the  family  shall  not  be  brought  to 

131 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

ruin  through  her,  depravity?  Whether  we  calculate 
once  or  a  thousand  times,  all's  lost  in  matters  of  the 
heart.  But  you'll  make  this  hideous  calculation  one 
of  these  days,  my  lovely  Baronne  de  Macumer,  when 
you  are  the  proud  and  happy  wife  of  the  man  who 
adores  you — or  rather  that  great-minded  man  will  save 
you  from  making  the  calculation,  for  he  will  do  it  him- 
self. You  perceive,  dear  giddy  creature,  that  we  have 
studied  the  Code  in  its  relations  to  conjugal  love. 
You  must  know  that  it  is  only  to  God  and  to  our- 
selves that  we  owe  any  account  of  the  means  we  use 
for  the  perpetuation  of  happiness  in  the  bosom  of  our 
households.  And  the  deliberate  calculation  which 
succeeds  in  that  is  better  than  the  unthinking  love 
that  brings  sorrow,  wrangling,  and  separation  in  its 
train.  I  have  given  painful  study  to  the  part  assigned 
to  the  wife  and  mother.  Yes,  my  dear  love,  some  sub- 
lime deception  she  must  practise  in  order  to  become 
the  noble  creature  she  is,  when  she  fulfils  all  her 
duties.  You  tax  me  with  duplicity  because  I  desire  to 
measure  out  Louis's  knowledge  of  myself  to  him  in 
daily  doses.  But  is  it  not  too  intimate  an  acquaint- 
ance that  brings  about  most  separations?  My  object 
is  to  keep  him  very  busy,  to  distract  his  thought  from 
me,  for  the  sake  of  his  own  happiness,  and  this  desire 
has  nothing  in  common  with  a  calculating  passion. 

The  spring  of  love  is  not  inexhaustible,  though 
that  of  affection  may  be,  and  it  is  a  great  undertaking 
for  any  good  woman  to  distribute  her  allotted  por- 
tion wisely  over  the  span  of  life.  I  will  risk  the 

132 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

chance  of  horrifying  you,  and  I  will  tell  you  that  I 
adhere  to  my  principles,  and  continue  to  consider  my- 
self a  very  noble-minded  and  very  generous  person. 
Virtue,  my  darling,  is  a  principle  which  manifests 
itself  variously  in  various  surroundings.  It  produces 
absolutely  different  effects  in  Provence,  in  Constants 
nople,  in  London,  in  Paris — but  virtue  it  still  re- 
mains. The  tissue  of  each  human  existence  is  full  of 
the  most  irregular  combinations.  Yet  viewed  from 
a  certain  altitude,  every  life  looks  like  the  rest.  If  I 
wanted  to  see  Louis  an  unhappy  man  and  to  bring 
about  a  regular  separation  between  us,  I  should  only 
have  to  allow  him  to  lead  me  by  the  nose.  I  have 
not,  like  you,  had  the  good  luck  to  meet  with  a  su- 
perior being.  But  I  may  have  the  happiness  of  turn- 
ing him  into  one;  and  I  summon  you  to  meet  me  in 
Paris  five  years  hence.  You  will  be  deceived  yourself, 
and  you'll  tell  me  I  was  quite  mistaken,  and  that  M. 
de  1'Estorade  is  by  nature  a  remarkable  man.  As 
for  those  fair  delights,  those  deep  emotions  that  I 
only  feel  through  you;  as  for  those  tarryings  on  bal- 
conies under  starlight  nights,  as  for  the  excessive 
adoration  that  turns  us  into  divinities,  I  have  known 
from  the  first  that  I  must  give  all  that  up.  In  your 
life  you  blossom  freely  as  you  choose.  Mine  is  cir- 
cumscribed, hemmed  in  by  the  walls  of  La  Crampade 
— and  you  find  fault  with  the  precautions  that  are 
necessary,  if  this  fragile,  secret,  weakly  happiness  of 
mine  is  to  grow  lasting,  rich,  and  mysterious?  I 
fancied  I  had  discovered  the  charms  of  a  mistress 

133 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

in  my  married  state,  and  you  have  driven  me  almost 
to  blush  for  myself. 

Which  of  us  is  right?  Which  wrong?  It  may  be 
that  each  of  us  is  wrong  and  right  as  well.  And  it 
may  be,  also,  that  society  makes  us  pay  very  dear  for 
our  laces  and  our  titles  and  our  children.  I  have  my 
red  camellias,  too.  They  are  on  my  lips,  that  shed 
smiles  on  the  two  men,  father  and  son,  to  whom  I 
devote  myself — at  once  their  mistress  and  their  slave. 
Still,  my  dearest,  your  last  two  letters  have  made  me 
realize  how  much  I  have  missed.  You  have  taught 
me  the  extent  of  the  sacrifice  a  married  woman  makes. 
I  had  hardly  time  to  cast  a  glance  at  the  splendid  wild 
steppe  over  which  you  are  careering,  and  I  will  not 
enlarge  on  the  few  tears  I  wiped  away  as  I  read  your 
letters.  But  regret  is  not  remorse,  though  they  are 
closely  akin.  You  tell  me  "marriage  breeds  philos- 
ophy." Ah,  no !  I  was  very  sure  of  that,  when  I  sat 
crying,  and  thought  of  you  swept  away  on  the  torrent 
of  love!  But  my  father  has  given  me  the  works  of 
one  of  the  most  learned  authors  of  these  parts,  one 
of  Bossuet's  heirs,  one  of  those  merciless  reasoners 
whose  pages  carry  conviction  to  their  readers'  souls. 
While  you  were  reading  Corinne  I  was  reading 
Bonald,  and  there  lies  the  secret  of  my  philosophy— 
the  family  rose  up  before  me  in  all  its  holiness  and 
might.  According  to  Bonald,  your  father  was  per- 
fectly right  in  all  he  said. 

Farewell,  my  dear  imagination,  my  friend,  you 
who  are  all  the  frolic  of  my  life! 

134 


XIX 

FKOM  LOUISE  DE  CHAULIEU  TO  MME.  DE  I/ESTORADE 

WELL,  well,  you  are  the  dearest  of  women,  my 
Renee,  and  I  am  convinced  now  that  deceit  is  an  hon- 
est thing.  Are  you  pleased  with  me?  Besides,  the 
man  who  loves  us  belongs  to  us.  We  have  the  right  to 
turn  him  either  into  a  fool  or  a  man  of  genius,  though 
between  ourselves  we  do  generally  make  a  fool  of 
him.  You'll  make  yours  into  a  man  of  genius,  and 
you'll  keep  your  own  secret — two  noble  actions.  Ah, 
if  there  were  no  Paradise,  you  would  be  properly 
hoaxed,  for  you  are  certainly  devoting  yourself  to  a 
deliberate  martyrdom  on  earth.  You  want  to  make 
him  ambitious  and  to  keep  him  in  love  with  you. 
But,  child  that  you  are,  it  would  be  quite  enough  to 
go  on  feeding  his  passion.  Up  to  what  point  is 
calculation  virtue,  or  virtue  calculation — eh?  We 
won't  lose  our  tempers  over  this  question,  since  Bo- 
nald  is  of  the  party.  We  are  and  we  intend  to  be 
virtuous,  but  in  spite  of  all  your  delightful  knaveries 
I  believe  you  to  be  less  wicked  at  this  moment  than 
I  am.  Yes,  I'm  a  horribly  deceitful  girl!  I  love 
Felipe,  and  I  conceal  the  fact  from  him  with  the  most 
infamous  hypocrisy.  I  would  like  to  see  him  leap 

135 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

from  his  tree  on  to  the  top  of  the  wall,  and  from  the 
top  of  the  wall  on  to  my  balcony — and  if  he  were  to  do 
as  I  desire,  I  should  crush  him  with  my  disdain.  I  am 
hideously  frank,  you  see.  What  stops  me?  What 
mysterious  power  is  it  that  prevents  me  from  letting 
that  dear  Felipe  know  the  happiness  his  pure,  perfect, 
noble,  secret,  all-abounding  love  pours  out  upon  me? 
Mme.  de  Mirbel  is  painting  my  picture,  and  I  mean  to 
give  it  him,  my  dear.  A  thing  that  surprises  me  more 
and  more  every  day  is  the  activity  with  which  love 
inspires  life.  What  fresh  interests  one  finds  in  seasons 
and  actions,  and  the  very  smallest  things,  and  how 
delightfully  past  and  future  are  confused  together! 
Every  verb  seems  to  have  three  tenses  at  once.  Are 
things  still  like  this  after  happiness  has  come  to  one? 
Oh,  answer  me  quickly,  tell  me  what  happiness  is — 
whether  it  calms  or  whether  it  excites.  I  am  in  a  state 
of  mortal  anxiety.  I  no  longer  know  how  to  act. 
There  is  some  force  in  my  heart  that  sweeps  me  to- 
wards him,  in  spite  of  reason  and  propriety.  In  short, 
I  understand  your  curiosity  about  Louis — now  are 
you  pleased?  Felipe's  content  in  the  thought  that  he 
belongs  to  me,  his  distant  love  and  his  obedience  pro- 
voke me  as  much  as  his  profound  respect  used  to  ex- 
asperate me  when  he  was  only  my  Spanish  master.  I 
feel  inclined  to  shriek  out  at  him  as  he  goes  by: 
"  Idiot,  if  you  love  my  picture,  what  would  it  be  if 
you  knew  myself  ?  " 

Oh,  Renee,  you  burn  all  my  letters,  don't  you? 
I'll  burn  all  yours.    If  any  eyes  but  your  own  were  to 

136 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

read  these  thoughts  we  pour  into  each  other's  hearts, 
I  would  tell  Felipe  to  go  and  put  them  out,  and  kill 
a  few  people,  so  that  we  might  be  safer. 

Monday. 

Ah,  Renee,  can  a  woman  fathom  a  man's  heart? 
My  father  is  to  present  your  M.  Bonald  to  me,  and 
since  he  is  so  wise,  I'll  ask  him  to  tell  me.  Would 
that  I  had  the  divine  power  of  reading  the  secrets  of 
all  hearts.  Am  I  still  an  angel  in  that  man's  sight? 
There's  the  whole  question. 

If  ever,  in  a  gesture,  a  look,  the  accent  on  a  word, 
1  were  to  detect  any  falling  off  in  the  respect  he  had 
for  me  when  he  gave  me  Spanish  lessons,  I  feel  I  should 
have  strength  to  forget  everything.  "  Wherefore 
these  fine  words  and  mighty  resolutions?  "  you  will 
say.  Ah,  here  it  is,  my  dear.  My  delightful  father, 
who  treats  me  as  if  he  were  an  elderly  Cavaliere  Ser- 
vente,  and  I  an  Italian  lady,  has,  as  I  told  you,  had  my 
picture  painted  by  Mme.  de  Mirbel.  I  have  con- 
trived to  have  a  copy  made,  and  such  a  good  one  that 
I  have  been  able  to  give  it  to  the  Duke,  and  send  the 
original  to  Felipe.  This  I  did  yesterday,  and  these 
four  lines  went  with  it : 

"  Don  Felipe:  In  response  to  your  absolute  de- 
votion, a  blind  confidence  is  bestowed  on  you.  Time 
will  prove  whether  any  man  can  rise  to  the  height  of 
nobility  required." 

It  is  a  great  reward.  It  looks  like  a  promise  and, 
what  is  horrible,  like  an  invitation.  But  what  will 
seem  still  more  horrible  to  you  is  that  I  intended  the 

137 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

reward  to  express  a  promise  and  an  invitation,  with- 
out going  so  far  as  to  be  an  offer.  If  in  his  answer 
he  writes  "  My  Louise,"  or  even  "  Louise,"  he  is  lost. 


Tuesday. 

No,  he's  not  lost.  This  Constitutional  Minister  is 
a  most  adorable  lover.  Here  is  his  letter: 

"  Every  moment  spent  without  seeing  you  was 
filled  with  the  thought  of  you.  My  eyes,  blind  to 
all  else,  were  fixed  in  meditation  on  your  figure, 
which  would  never  stand  out  swiftly  enough  in  that 
palace  of  darkness,  peopled  with  dream  figures,  on 
which  brightness  is  shed  by  you  alone.  Hencefor- 
ward my  eyes  will  feed  on  this  wonderful  ivory,  this 
talisman,  I  may  call  it,  for  when  I  look  at  it,  life  stirs 
your  blue  eyes  and  the  portrait  instantly  turns  to  a 
reality.  My  letter  has  been  delayed  by  my  eagerness 
to  indulge  in  this  contemplation,  in  the  course  of 
which  I  have  been  telling  you  all  those  things  con- 
cerning which  I  am  forced  to  hold  my  peace.  Yes,  ever 
since  yesterday,  shut  up  alone  with  you,  I  have  given 
myself  over,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  to  a  full,  com- 
plete, and  infinite  happiness.  If  you  could  see  your- 
self where  I  have  set  you,  between  the  Blessed  Virgin 
and  God  himself,  you  would  understand  the  agony  of 
agitation  in  which  I  have  spent  the  night.  But  I 
would  not  offend  you  by  speaking  of  this —  I  should 
suffer  so  frightfully  if  one  glance  of  yours  were 
stripped  of  the  angelic  kindness  on  which  I  live,  that 
I  crave  your  pardon  beforehand.  Ah,  queen  of  my 

138 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

life  and  of  my  soul,  if  you  should  be  pleased  to  grant 
me  the  thousandth  part  of  the  love  I  bear  you! 

"  The  */  of  this  ceaseless  petition  wrung  my  soul. 
I  stood  between  belief  and  error,  between  life  and 
death,  between  darkness  and  light.  No  criminal  is 
more  anguished  during  the  decision  of  his  fate  than 
I,  as  I  acknowledge  this  audacity  to  you.  The  smile 
upon  your  lips,  which  I  turn  back  to  gaze  at  every 
other  moment,  has  calmed  the  tempest  stirred  by  my 
terror  of  displeasing  you.  In  all  my  life  no  one,  not 
even  my  mother,  has  smiled  upon  me.  The  fair  young 
girl  who  was  my  destined  bride  refused  my  heart  and 
fell  in  love  with  my  own  brother.  In  politics  my  ef- 
forts met  with  failure.  I  never  read  aught  but  a 
thirst  for  vengeance  in  the  eyes  of  my  King,  and  from 
our  youth  up  the  enmity  between  us  has  been  so  deep 
that  he  regarded  the  vote  whereby  the  Cortes  called 
me  to  power  as  a  deadly  insult  to  himself.  However 
steadfast  a  man's  heart  may  be,  some  doubt  will  creep 
into  it.  And  besides,  I  am  just  to  myself,  I  know  my 
own  ugliness,  and  I  comprehend  how  difficult  it  must 
be  to  realize  the  nature  of  the  heart  that  beats  be- 
neath an  exterior  such  as  mine.  When  I  first  saw  you, 
the  thought  of  being  loved  had  grown  to  be  nothing 
but  a  dream  to  me,  and  when  I  first  set  my  heart  on 
you,  I  understood  that  my  affection  could  only  be 
excused  by  my  devotion.  But  as  I  gaze  upon  this 
portrait,  and  listen  to  the  divine  promise  of  that  smile, 
a  hope  I  had  not  dared  to  permit  myself  has  sprung 
up  in  my  soul.  The  gloom  of  doubt  fights  with  this 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

tender  dawn,  and  the  fear  of  your  displeasure  over- 
shadows it.  No,  you  cannot  love  me  yet.  I  feel  it. 
But  as  you  test  the  strength,  the  durability,  the  ex- 
tent of  my  inexhaustible  affection,  you  will  give  it 
a  tiny  foothold  in  your  heart.  If  my  ambition  is  an 
insult  to  you,  you  will  tell  me  so  without  anger,  and 
I  will  go  back  to  my  place.  But  if  you  will  indeed  try 
to  love  me,  do  not  make  it  known  without  minute 
precautions  to  the  man  who  had  built  all  the  happi- 
ness of  his  life  solely  on  being  your  slave." 

My  dear,  when  I  read  those  last  words,  I  fancied 
I  saw  him,  white,  as  he  was  that  night  when  I  showed 
him  by  the  camellia  that  I  accepted  the  treasures  of 
his  devotion.  Those  submissive  sentences  of  his  were 
anything  but  a  mere  flower  of  lovers'  rhetoric  in  my 
eyes,  and  I  felt  a  sort  of  great  emotion  in  my  soul — 
the  breath  of  happiness. 

The  weather  has  been  horrible.  It  has  been  im- 
possible for  me  to  go  to  the  Bois  without  giving  rise 
to  all  sort  of  strange  suspicions;  for  my  mother,  who 
often  goes  out  in  spite  of  the  rain,  has  stayed  at  home 
alone. 

Wednesday  Evening. 

I  have  just  seen  him  at  the  Opera.  My  dear,  he 
is  quite  a  different  man.  He  came  to  our  box  and  was 
introduced  by  the  Sardinian  Ambassador.  After  he 
had  read  in  my  eyes  that  his  boldness  had  not  dis- 
pleased me,  he  seemed  to  me  to  grow  suddenly  shy, 
and  said  "  Mademoiselle  "  to  the  Marquise  d'Espard. 
His  eyes  flashed  glances  more  brilliant  than  the  light 

140 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

from  the  chandeliers.  At  last  he  departed,  like  a  man 
who  was  afraid  of  doing  something  foolish. 

"  The  Baron  de  Macumer  is  in  love,"  said  Mme. 
de  Maufrigneuse  to  my  mother. 

"  And  that's  all  the  more  extraordinary,"  replied 
my  mother,  "  because  he  is  a  fallen  Minister." 

I  kept  sufficient  command  of  myself  to  look  at 
Mme.  d'Espard,  Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse,  and  my  moth- 
er with  the  curiosity  of  a  person  who  doesn't  under- 
stand a  foreign  language  and  wonders  what  is  being 
said.  But  within  me  raged  a  voluptuous  joy  in  which 
my  very  soul  seemed  steeped.  There  is  only  one  word 
to  express  what  I  feel,  it  is  rapture.  Felipe's  love  is 
so  great  that  I  feel  he  is  worthy  to  be  loved.  I  am 
literally  the  principle  of  his  existence,  and  I  hold  the 
thread  of  all  his  thoughts  in  my  hand.  Indeed — as 
we  are  to  tell  each  other  everything — I  feel  the  most 
violent  longing  to  see  him  break  down  every  obstacle 
between  us  and  beseech  me  to  bestow  myself  upon 
him,  so  that  I  may  discover  whether  this  fierce  love 
will  grow  calm  and  submissive  again  at  a  single  glance 
from  me. 

Ah,  my  dear,  I  broke  off  here  and  I  am  still 
trembling  from  head  to  foot.  As  I  sat  writing  I 
heard  a  little  noise  outside  and  left  my  chair.  Out  of 
my  window  I  saw  him  coming  along  the  top  of  the 
wall  at  the  risk  of  his  life.  I  went  to  the  window 
and  I  only  made  him  one  sign.  He  leapt  off  the  wall, 
which  is  ten  feet  high;  then  he  ran  out  upon  the  road 
until  I  could  see  him  so  as  to  show  me  he  was  unhurt. 

141 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

This  consideration,  just  at  the  moment  when  he  must 
have  been  half  stunned  by  his  fall,  touched  me  so 
much  that  I  am  still  crying  without  well  knowing  why. 
Poor  ugly  fellow!  What  was  he  coming  for?  What 
did  he  want  to  say  to  me? 

I  dare  not  set  down  my  thoughts,  and  I  am  going 
to  bed  happy,  thinking  of  all  we  would  say  to  each 
other  if  we  were  together.  Farewell,  my  silent  beauty. 
I  have  no  time  to  scold  you,  but  it  is  more  than  a 
month  since  I  have  had  news  of  you.  Is  it,  perhaps, 
that  happiness  has  come  to  you?  Can  it  be  that 
you  have  lost  that  independence  of  will  of  which  you 
were  so  proud,  and  which  so  nearly  slipped  from  my 
grasp  to-night? 


142 


XX 

FROM  REN£E  DE  L'ESTORADE  TO  LOUISE  DE  CHAULIEU 

May. 

IF  love  is  the  life  of  the  world,  why  do  austere 
philosophers  eliminate  it  from  marriage?  Why  does 
society  make  the  sacrifice  of  woman  to  the  family  the 
chief  law  of  its  existence,  thus  necessarily  sowing 
secret  discord  between  every  married  couple? — a  dis- 
cord so  dangerous  and  so  amply  foreseen  that  special 
powers  have  been  devised  to  strengthen  men  against 
women,  who,  as  they  feel,  are  able  to  wipe  out  all 
things  either  by  the  might  of  love  or  by  the  persist- 
ence of  a  hidden  hate?  At  this  moment  I  behold  in 
the  married  state  two  warring  forces,  which  the  legis- 
lator should  have  brought  into  alliance.  When  will 
they  be  joined  in  one?  That  is  what  I  ask  myself  as 
I  read  your  letter.  Ah,  dearest,  one  letter  of  yours 
has  overthrown  that  edifice  built  up  by  the  great 
writer  of  the  Aveyron,  in  which  I  had  taken  up  my 
abode  with  such  a  sense  of  sweet  content.  These  laws 
were  made  by  old  men.  We  women  find  that  out. 
They  have  most  wisely  decreed  that  conjugal  love 
which  is  devoid  of  passion  does  not  degrade  us,  and 
that  it  is  the  woman's  duty  to  yield,  once  the  law  per- 

143 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

mits  the  man  to  possess  her.  Their  sole  thought  has 
been  for  the  family,  and  they  have  followed  Nature, 
whose  sole  object  is  to  perpetuate  the  race.  A  while 
ago  I  was  a  living  being.  Now  I  am  nothing  but  a 
chattel.  Many  a  lonely  tear  have  I  gulped  down — 
many  a  tear  that  I  have  longed  to  barter  for  a  consol- 
ing smile.  Why  are  our  fates  so  different?  A  lawful 
love  ennobles  your  whole  soul.  Virtue,  for  you,  is 
bound  up  in  enjoyment.  You  will  not  suffer  except 
as  you  may  choose.  Your  duty,  if  you  marry  your 
Felipe,  will  be  found  in  the  sweetest,  the  most  unre- 
served of  all  your  feelings.  Our  future  is  big  with  the 
answer  to  my  cry,  and  I  await  it  with  most  agonizing 
anxiety. 

You  love  and  you  are  adored.  Oh,  dear  one,  yield 
up  your  whole  being  to  that  exquisite  poetry  of  which 
•we  have  so  often  dreamt.  Woman's  beauty,  so  dainty 
and  so  spiritualized  in  your  person,  was  designed  by 
God  that  it  might  charm  and  delight  man's  soul.  Yes, 
my  beloved,  keep  the  secret  of  your  love  well  hidden, 
and  put  Felipe  to  the  subtle  tests  we  used  to  invent  to 
discover  whether  the  lover  of  your  dreams  would  be 
worthy  of  us.  But  make  more  certain  that  you  love 
him  than  that  he  loves  you.  Nothing  is  more  decep- 
tive than  that  mirage  of  the  heart  called  into  being 
by  longing,  desire,  or  faith  in  one's  own  happiness. 
You,  who  are  the  one  of  us  two  that  yet  remains  intact, 
don't,  I  beseech  you,  risk  everything  on  so  perilous 
an  adventure  as  an  irrevocable  marriage  without  some 
preliminary  safeguard.  A  gesture^  a  word,  a  look 

144 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

during  one  of  those  tete-a-tete  conversations,  in  which 
worldly  hypocrisies  drop  off  a  man's  soul,  will  often 
shed  a  light  over  a  yawning  gulf.  You  are  sufficiently 
noble-hearted  €>f  yourself  to  permit  of  your  treading 
boldly  in  paths  where  other  women  lose  their  footing. 
You  cannot  conceive  my  state  of  anxiety.  In  spite 
of  the  distance  that  parts  us,  I  see  you  and  feel  every- 
thing you  feel.  So  don't  fail  to  write  to  me  and  to 
tell  me  everything.  Your  letters  fill  my  life  with 
passion  in  the  midst  of  this  household  existence  of 
mine — so  simple,  so  peaceful — as  dull  as  a  high-road 
on  a  sunless  day.  The  only  incidents  here,  my  dear 
love,  are  the  succession  of  bickerings  with  my  own 
self,  concerning  which  I  will  keep  silence  for  the  pres- 
ent. At  some  later  time  I  will  tell  you  of  them.  I 
yield,  and  then  I  retake  possession  of  myself  with  a 
sort  of  dreary  obstinacy,  sometimes  discouraged, 
sometimes  full  of  hope.  Perhaps  I  have  asked  more 
happiness  of  life  than  life  really  owes  me.  In  our 
youth  we  are  rather  apt  to  insist  that  our  own  ideal 
and  the  real  essence  of  things  must  agree.  My  medi- 
tations, and  I  ponder  alone,  now,  sitting  at  the  foot  of 
a  great  rock  in  my  pleasure-grounds,  have  led  me  to 
the  conviction  that  love  in  the  married  state  is  an  ac- 
cident on  which  one  cannot  found  any  unvarying  law. 
My  philosopher  was  right  when  he  looked  at  the  fam- 
ily as  the  only  social  unit,  and  made  woman  subservi- 
ent, as  she  has  been  from  time  immemorial,  to  the 
family.  The  solution  of  this  great  question,  one  that 
is  almost  terrible  to  us  women-folk,  depends  on  the 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

first  child  we  bear.  And  I  long  to  be  a  mother,  were 
it  only  to  give  scope  to  the  consuming  activity  of  my 
being. 

Louis  is  still  a  pattern  of  the  most  exquisite  kind- 
ness. His  love  is  active,  and  my  affection  passive.  He 
is  happy.  He  gathers  the  blossoms  for  himself  alone, 
and  never  gives  a  thought  to  the  effort  of  the  soil  that 
brings  them  forth.  Blessed  is  his  self-absorption. 
Whatever  it  may  cost  me,  I  favor  his  illusions,  just  as 
a  mother,  as  I  conceive  her,  wears  herself  out  to  give 
her  child  a  pleasure.  His  happiness  is  so  deep  that  it 
blinds  him  and  even  casts  a  reflected  glamour  back 
upon  me.  My  smile  and  my  glance,  both  bright 
with  the  satisfaction  born  of  the  certainty  of  the 
happiness  I  inspire,  deceive  him  thoroughly.  And 
the  affectionate  epithet  I  use  in  speaking  to  him  be- 
tween ourselves  is,  "  My  child."  I  await  the  reward 
of  all  this  sacrifice,  which  will  remain  a  secret  between 
yourself  and  me,  and  God.  Maternity  is  an  undertak- 
ing on  which  I  have  staked  huge  hopes.  So  much 
does  it  owe  me  now,  that  I  fear  I  may  never  recover 
all  I  have  risked.  It  must  unfold  my  energies,  it 
must  enlarge  my  heart,  and  make  good  many  things 
by  the  boundless  joy  it  brings.  O  Heaven,  grant 
that  I  be  not  disappointed!  All  my  future  hangs  on 
that,  and — what  a  terrifying  thought! — all  my  vir- 
tue, too. 


146 


XXI 

FROM  LOUISE  DE  CHAULIEU  TO  RENEE  DE  I/ESTORADE 

June. 

DEAR  MARRIED  DARLING:  Your  letter  came  at 
the  very  moment  when  I  needed  it  to  justify  in  my 
own  eyes  a  piece  of  boldness  I  have  been  cogitating 
all  day  and  all  night.  I  am  possessed  with  the  strang- 
est longing  after  unknown  or,  if  you  will,  forbidden 
things — a  longing  that  alarms  me  and  warns  me  that 
the  laws  of  Society  and  the  laws  of  Nature  will  yet 
fight  a  desperate  battle  within  my  soul.  I  know  not 
whether  Nature  is  stronger  than  Society  in  my  case, 
but  I  catch  myself  planning  compromises  between  the 
two  powers.  In  short,  to  put  it  plainly,  I  pined  to 
spend  an  hour  in  the  dark  under  the  lime-trees  at 
the  foot  of  our  garden,  talking  to  Felipe  all  alone. 
No  doubt  this  desire  is  characteristic  of  a  girl  on 
whom  the  title  of  "  sprightly  rogue,"  with  which  my 
mother  has  dubbed  me,  and  which  my  father  has  con- 
firmed, is  deservedly  bestowed.  Nevertheless,  the 
misdeed  appears  to  me  both  wise  and  prudent.  While 
I  shall  thereby  reward  Felipe  for  the  many  nights  he 
has  spent  at  the  foot  of  my  wall,  I  shall  also  find  out 
what  view  he  takes  of  my  escapade  and  judge  him 

147  Vol.  2 

9 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

by  his  behaviour  at  such  a  crucial  moment.  If  he 
treats  my  fault  as  something  divine,  I  will  make  him 
my  adored  husband;  or  if  he  should  not  prove  more 
respectful  and  more  overcome  than  when  he  bows  as 
he  rides  past  me  in  the  Champs-filysees,  I  will  never 
look  upon  his  face  again.  As  far  as  society  is  con- 
cerned, I  risk  less  by  seeing  my  lover  in  this  fashion 
than  if  I  were  to  smile  upon  him  in  the  drawing-room 
of  Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse  or  the  old  Marquise  de 
Beauseant,  for  there  are  spies  all  about  us  now,  and 
Heaven  alone  knows  what  strange  looks  are  cast  at 
a  girl  who  is  suspected  of  bestowing  her  attention 
on  a  monster  such  as  Macumer.  Oh,  if  you  only  knew 
the  tumult  within  me,  as  I  dream  over  this  plan  of 
mine,  and  if  you  could  realize  how  I  have  striven  to 
discover  how  it  was  to  be  carried  out!  I  have  often 
longed  for  you.  We  would  have  spent  many  a  pleas- 
ant hour  chattering  to  each  other,  lost  in  the  laby- 
rinths of  doubt  and  enjoying  the  foretaste  of  all  the 
good  things,  or  the  bad,  that  may  come  of  a  first  lovers' 
meeting  after  nightfall  in  the  shadow  and  silence 
under  the  beautiful  lime-trees  of  the  Hotel  de  Chau- 
lieu,  athwart  whose  branches  the  moon  casts  a  thou- 
sand shafts  of  tender  light.  I  fairly  panted  as  I  sat 
alone,  saying  to  myself,  "  Ah,  Renee,  where  are 
you?  "  Well,  your  letter  fired  the  train,  and  my  last 
scruples  were  blown  to  atoms.  Out  of  my  window 
I  cast  to  my  astounded  worshipper  a  careful  drawing 
of  the  key  that  opens  the  small  door  at  the  end  of 
the  garden,  and  with  it  the  following  note:  "You 

148 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

must  be  prevented  from  doing  mad  things.  If  you 
were  to  break  your  neck,  you  would  destroy  the  repu- 
tation of  the  person  you  claim  to  love.  Are  you 
worthy  of  a  fresh  proof  of  esteem,  and  do  you  deserve 
an  interview  at  the  hour  when  the  moon  leaves  the 
lime-trees  at  the  foot  of  the  garden  in  deep  shad- 
ows? " 

At  one  o'clock  yesterday  morning,  just  as  Griffiths 
was  departing  to  her  bed,  I  said  to  her: 

"  Put  on  your  shawl  and  come  with  me,  my  dear. 
I  want  to  go  to  the  end  of  the  garden,  and  nobody 
must  know  it." 

She  didn't  say  a  word,  and  followed  me.  What  a 
sensation,  my  Renee!  For  after  watching  with  a  de- 
licious feeling  of  anxiety  for  his  arrival,  I  had  seen 
him  slip  in  like  a  shadow.  We  reached  the  garden 
unhindered,  and  then  I  said  to  Griffiths: 

"  Don't  be  astonished.  The  Baron  de  Macumer  is 
over  there,  and  it  is  on  his  account  that  I  have  brought 
you  with  me." 

She  didn't  speak. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me?  "  said  Felipe  to 
me,  in  a  voice  that  told  me  the  rustle  of  our  gowns  in 
the  stillness  and  the  noise  of  our  steps  on  the  gravel, 
slight  as  they  were,  had  almost  driven  him  wild 
with  emotion.  "  I  want  to  tell  you  what  I  cannot 
well  write,"  I  answered.  Griffiths  moved  a  dozen 
paces  away  from  me.  It  was  one  of  those  soft  nights 
when  the  air  is  laden  with  the  scent  of  flowers.  I  felt 
a  sort  of  intoxication  of  delight  at  finding  myself  thus 

149 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

almost  alone  with  him,  in  the  soft  shadow  of  the  lime- 
trees,  beyond  which  the  garden  shone  all  the  brighter 
because  the  moonlight  gleamed  from  the  white  fa£ade 
of  the  house.  The  contrast  was  a  dim  image  of  the 
mystery  of  our  love,  destined  to  end  in  the  garish 
publicity  of  marriage.  After  enjoying  for  a  moment 
the  delight  of  a  position  which  was  new  to  each  of  us, 
and  equally  surprised  us  both,  I  recovered  the  use  of 
my  tongue. 

"  Though  slander  does  not  terrify  me,"  I  said,  "  I 
do  not  wish  you  to  go  on  climbing  that  tree  "  (point- 
ing to  the  elm),  "  nor  yet  that  wall.  You  and  I  have 
behaved  like  school  children  long  enough.  Let  us 
lift  our  minds  now  to  the  level  of  our  destiny.  If  you 
had  been  killed  by  your  fall,  I  should  have  died  dis- 
honored." 

I  looked  at  him;  his  face  was  ghastly  white. 

"  And  if  any  one  saw  you  thus,  suspicion  would  fall 
either  on  my  mother  or  on  me." 

"  Forgive!  "  he  said,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  Walk  along  the  boulevard,  I  shall  hear  your 
footstep,  and  when  I  want  to  see  you  I  will  open  my 
window.  But  I  will  neither  allow  you  to  run  that  risk 
nor  run  it  myself,  except  for  a  serious  reason.  Why 
have  you  forced  me  by  your  imprudence  to  commit 
another  on  my  own  part,  and  drive  you  to  think  ill 
of  me?  " 

In  his  eyes  I  saw  tears,  and  I  thought  them  the 
noblest  answer  in  the  world. 

"  You  must  think  my  behaviour  exceedingly  for- 
150 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

ward,"  I  went  on,  with  a  smile.  We  walked  up  and 
down  under  the  trees,  once  or  twice,  in  silence.  Then 
words  came  back  to  him. 

'  You  must  think  me  utterly  stupid.  And  indeed 
I  am  so  drunk  with  happiness,  that  I  have  neither 
strength  nor  wits  left  in  me.  But  be  sure,  at  all  events, 
that  the  very  fact  that  you  do  a  thing  makes  it  holy 
in  my  eyes.  The  reverence  I  feel  for  you  can  only 
be  compared  with  my  reverence  for  God  himself. 
And  besides,  Miss  Griffiths  is  here " 

"  She  is  here  on  other  folks'  account,  not  on  ours, 
Felipe,"  I  said  hastily.  That  man  understood  me,  my 
dear  soul. 

"  I  know  very  well,"  he  rejoined,  with  the  most 
submissive  of  glances  at  me,  "  that  even  if  she  were 
not  here,  everything  between  us  two  would  be  just  as 
though  she  saw  us.  Even  if  we  are  not  in  men's  sight, 
we  are  always  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  we  stand  as 
much  in  need  of  our  own  self-respect  as  of  the  respect 
of  others." 

"  I  thank  you,  Felipe,"  said  I,  holding  out  my 
hand  to  him  with  a  gesture  which  I  have  no  doubt 
you  can  imagine.  "  A  woman,  and  I  am  a  true  woman, 
is  always  inclined  to  love  a  man  who  understands 
her.  Oh,  no  more  than  inclined,"  I  added,  laying 
one  finger  on  my  lips.  "  I  do  not  wish  you  to  have 
more  hope  than  I  choose  to  give  you.  My  heart  will 
never  belong  to  any  one  but  the  man  who  is  able 
to  read  it  and  know  it  thoroughly.  Our  feelings, 
without  being  exactly  similar,  must  have  the  same 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

scope  and  the  same  level.  I  make  no  attempt  to  make 
myself  appear  greater  than  I  am,  for  no  doubt  such 
qualities  as  I  think  I  possess  carry  their  own  faults 
with  them.  Still  I  should  be  very  unhappy  if  I  did  not 
possess  them." 

"  First  of  all,  you  accepted  me  as  your  servant,  and 
then  you  gave  me  leave  to  love  you."  He  trembled 
as  he  spoke,  and  looked  at  me  between  every  word. 
"  I  have  more  than  I  sued  for  at  first." 

"  But,"  I  answered  quickly,  "  your  lot  seems  to 
me  happier  than  my  own.  I  should  not  be  sorry  to 
alter  mine — and  that  is  in  your  hands." 

"  It  is  my  turn  to  thank  you  now,"  he  answered. 
"  I  know  the  duty  of  a  loyal  lover.  I  must  prove  that 
I  am  worthy  of  you,  and  you  have  the  right  to  test  me 
as  long  as  it  may  please  you.  You  have  even  power, 
God  help  me,  to  cast  me  off,  if  you  should  be  disap- 
pointed in  me." 

"  I  know  you  love  me,"  I  replied.  "  Up  to  the 
present  " — I  laid  merciless  emphasis  on  this  last  word 
— "  you  are  the  suitor  I  prefer,  and  that  is  why  you  are 
here  to-night." 

We  took  a  few  more  turns  up  and  down,  talking 
as  we  walked,  and  I  must  confess  that  once  my  Span- 
iard's mind  was  set  at  ease,  he  expressed,  not  his  pas- 
sion, but  his  tender  affection  with  the  most  artless 
eloquence,  illustrating  his  feeling  for  me  by  an  ex- 
quisite comparison  of  the  divine  love.  That  thrilling 
voice  of  his,  which  imparted  a  special  value  to  ideas 
that  were  already  so  full  of  delicacy,  was  like  a  night- 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

ingale's.  He  spoke  in  an  undertone,  pouring  out  his 
words  eagerly  like  a  gushing  spring,  the  overflowing 
of  his  full  heart. 

"Hush!"  I  said  at  last,  "or  I  shall  stay  here 
longer  than  I  ought,"  and  with  a  gesture  I  dismissed 
him. 

"  So  now  you  are  plighted,  mademoiselle,"  quoth 
Griffiths  to  me. 

"  That  might  be  so  in  England,"  I  answered  care- 
lessly, "  but  not  in  France;  I  intend  to  marry  for  love, 
and  not  to  be  deceived — that's  all." 

You  see,  my  dear,  love  did  not  come  to  me,  and  so 
I  have  done  as  Mahomet  did  with  his  mountain. 

Friday. 

I  have  seen  my  slave  once  more.  He  has  grown 
timorous,  he  h?s  assumed  an  air  of  mystery  and  devo- 
tion, which  I  like.  He  seems  to  be  imbued  with  a 
deep  sense  of  my  power  and  glory.  But  nothing, 
either  in  his  look  or  manner,  would  lead  the  soothsay- 
ers of  smart  society  to  suspect  the  infinite  adoration  I 
perceive  in  him. 

Nevertheless,  my  dear,  I  am  not  swept  away,  nor 
ruled,  nor  mastered.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  I  who  con- 
quer, who  rule,  and  who  prevail.  In  other  words,  I 
can  reason.  Ah,  how  I  wish  I  could  recover  that 
sensation  of  fear  I  felt,  under  the  fascination  of  the 
teacher,  the  plain  citizen,  to  whom  I  would  not  yield. 
There  are  two  kinds  of  love — the  love  which  com- 
mands, and  the  love  which  obeys.  They  are  distinct, 

153 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

and  they  give  birth  to  two  separate  passions,  the  one 
quite  different  from  the  other.  Perhaps,  if  a  woman 
is  to  have  her  full  due  from  life,  she  ought  to  feel  them 
both.  Can  these  two  passions  ever  blend  together? 
Can  the  man,  in  whom  we  inspire  love,  inspire  us  with 
the  same  feeling?  Will  Felipe  be  my  master  one  of 
these  days?  Shall  I  ever  tremble  as  he  trembles  now? 
These  questions  thrill  me  through  and  through. 
He's  very  blind.  In  his  place,  under  the  lime-trees, 
I  should  have  thought  Mile,  de  Chaulieu  a  very 
cold  coquette,  starched  and  calculating.  No,  that 
kind  of  thing  is  not  love ;  that  is  mere  playing  with  fire. 
I  care  for  Felipe  still,  but  I  am  calm  now,  and  at  my 
ease.  There  are  no  more  obstacles  between  us — dis- 
tressing thought!  I  feel  everything  within  me  droop 
and  collapse,  and  I  am  afraid  to  question  my  own 
heart.  He  should  not  have  hidden  the  vehemence  of 
his  love  from  me.  He  has  left  me  mistress  of  myself. 
Certainly  this  sort  of  blunder  brings  me  no  benefit. 
Yes,  my  dearest,  delightful  as  is  the  memory  of  that 
half  hour  spent  under  the  trees,  the  pleasure  it  gave 
me  seems  to  me  far  inferior  to  my  sensations  while  I 
was  wondering,  "  Shall  I  go,  or  shall  I  not?  Shall  I 
write  to  him,  or  shall  I  not?  "  Can  it  be  the  same  with 
all  pleasures?  Would  it  be  better  to  put  them  off 
than  to  enjoy  them?  Is  anticipation  really  superior  to 
possession?  Are  the  rich  really  the  poor?  Have  we 
both  of  us  over-exaggerated  our  feelings  by  develop- 
ing the  strength  of  our  imagination  out  of  all  meas- 
ure? There  are  moments  when  this  idea  strikes  cold 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

to  my  heart.  Do  you  know  why?  I  am  thinking  of 
returning  to  the  bottom  of  the  garden  without  Grif- 
fiths! Whither  shall  I  go  at  this  rate?  Imagination 
may  know  no  bounds,  but  enjoyment  has  its  limits. 
Tell  me,  sweet  doctor  in  petticoats,  how  I  am  to  rec- 
oncile these  two  goals  of  our  feminine  existence? 


155 


xxn 

FROM   LOUISE   TO   FELIPE 

I  AM  not  pleased  with  you.  If  you  have  wept  over 
Racine's  Berenice,  if  you  have  not  thought  it  the 
most  hideous  of  all  tragedies,  you  will  not  understand 
me,  and  we  shall  never  understand  each  other.  Let  us 
part — let  there  be  an  end  to  our  meetings — forget  me 
— for  if  you  do  not  give  me  a  satisfactory  answer,  I  shall 
forget  you.  You  will  become  the  Baron  de  Macumer 
to  me,  or  rather  you  will  become  nothing  at  all — as 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  it  will  be  as  though  you  had 
never  existed.  At  Mme.  d'Espard's  yesterday  you 
wore  a  sort  of  air  of  satisfaction  which  was  excessively 
displeasing  to  me.  You  seemed  to  be  certain  that 
you  were  loved.  Altogether  your  self-possession  hor- 
rified me,  and  I  failed  to  recognise  in  you  at  that 
moment  the  servitor  you  described  yourself  as  being 
in  your  first  letter.  Far  from  being  absent,  as  a  man  in 
love  should  be,  you  made  witty  remarks.  This  is  not 
the  behaviour  of  the  true  believer — he  is  always  bowed 
down  in  the  presence  of  the  divinity.  If  I  am  not  a 
being  superior  to  all  other  women,  if  you  do  not  look 
on  me  as  the  spring  of  your  existence,  I  am  less  than 
a  woman — because  then  I  am  merely  a  woman  in 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

your  sight.  You  have  sowed  distrust  in  my  soul,  Fe- 
lipe, and  its  murmur  has  drowned  the  voice  of  affec- 
tion. When  I  look  back  over  our  past,  I  see  I  have  a 
right  to  be  distrustful.  Learn,  Sir  Constitutional 
Minister  of  all  the  Spains,  that  I  have  pondered  deeply 
over  the  parlous  condition  of  my  sex.  My  innocence 
has  held  flaring  torches  without  burning  its  fingers. 
Lend  an  attentive  ear  to  that  which  my  young  ex- 
perience has  taught  me,  and  which  I  now  repeat  to 
you.  In  all  other  matters,  duplicity,  lack  of  faith, 
broken  promises,  meet  their  judges,  and  those  judges 
inflict  punishments.  But  it  is  not  so  with  love.  Love 
must  be  at  once  victim,  accuser,  advocate,  judge  and 
executioner.  For  the  most  hideous  of  perfidies,  the 
vilest  of  crimes,  are  those  which  remain  unknown. 
They  are  committed  between  human  hearts,  they  have 
no  witnesses,  and  it  is  in  the  interest  of  the  murdered 
heart,  of  course,  to  hold  its  peace.  Love,  then,  has  its 
own  code  and  its  own  vengeance — the  world  has  no 
part  in  them.  Now  I  have  made  a  vow  that  I  will 
never  pardon  a  crime,  and  in  matters  of  the  heart 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  trivial  offence.  Yesterday 
you  looked  like  a  man  who  was  certain  he  was  loved. 
If  you  were  not  certain  of  this,  you  would  be  wrong. 
But  it  would  be  criminal  on  your  part  if  that  certainty 
were  to  rob  you  of  the  ingenuous  charm  with  which 
the  fluctuations  of  hope  have  hitherto  endowed  you. 
I  do  not  desire  to  see  you  either  a  faint  heart  or  a 
fop.  I  will  not  have  you  tremble  lest  you  should  lose 
my  affection,  because  that  would  be  an  insult.  But 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

neither  do  I  choose  that  a  sense  of  security  shall 
permit  you  to  carry  your  love  lightly.  You  must 
never  seem  more  self-possessed  than  I  appear  my- 
self. If  you  do  not  know  the  anguish  a  single  idea 
of  doubt  stirs  in  the  soul — tremble  lest  I  should  teach 
it  you.  By  one  single  glance  I  yielded  up  my  heart 
to  you,  and  you  have  read  it.  You  possess  the  purest 
feelings  that  ever  sprang  in  a  young  girl's  breast. 
The  thought  and  meditation  of  which  I  have  spoken 
have  only  enriched  the  brain;  but  if  a  wounded  heart 
be  driven  to  take  counsel  with  the  intellect,  that 
girl,  believe  me,  will  be  something  like  the  angel  who 
knows  all  things,  and  is  capable  of  all.  I  swear  to 
you,  Felipe,  that  if  you  love  me,  as  I  believe  you  do, 
and  if  you  allow  me  to  suspect  the  slightest  diminu- 
tion in  those  feelings  of  fear,  obedience,  reverent  ex- 
pectation, and  submissive  longing,  of  which  you  have 
given  me  indications;  if  any  day  I  come  to  perceive 
the  smallest  slackening  in  that  first  and  noble  love 
which  has  passed  from  your  heart  into  mine,  I  will  say 
nothing  to  you.  I  will  not  weary  you  with  any  letter, 
more  or  less  dignified,  more  or  less  proud  or  angry, 
or  even  grumbling,  like  this  one  of  mine.  I  will  not 
say  one  word,  Felipe.  You  would  see  me  sad,  with 
the  sadness  of  one  who  watches  the  approach  of 
death.  But  I  would  not  die  without  having  set  the 
most  horrible  blight  upon  you,  without  having 
dishonoured  the  woman  you  have  loved  in  the  most 
shameful  manner,  and  implanted  an  eternal  regret 
within  your  heart;  for  you  would  see  me  lost  in 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

the  eyes  of  men  on  earth,  and  damned  forever  in  the 
life  beyond. 

Do  not  make  me  jealous,  then,  of  another,  and  a 
happy  Louise,  of  a  Louise  who  was  loved  with  a  holy 
adoration,  of  a  Louise  whose  heart  was  gladdened  by 
a  love  that  knew  no  shadow,  and  who,  as  Dante  so 
sublimely  puts  it,  possessed 

"  Senza  brama,  sicura  ricchezza." 

Let  me  tell  you  that  I  have  sought  all  through  his 
Inferno  to  discover  the  most  agonizing  of  tortures,  a 
frightful  moral  punishment,  to  which  would  be  added 
the  eternal  vengeance  of  the  Most  High. 

Yesterday,  then,  thanks  to  your  behaviour,  the 
cold  and  cruel  dagger  of  suspicion  entered  my  heart. 
Do  you  understand  me?  I  doubted  you,  and  it  was 
such  agony  that  I  desire  to  be  relieved  of  future 
doubt.  If  you  find  my  service  too  hard  for  you,  leave 
it — and  I  shall  bear  you  no  malice.  Am  I  not  well 
aware  that  you  are  a  clever  man?  Keep  all  the  blos- 
soms of  your  soul  for  me.  Let  your  eyes  seem  dim 
to  the  outer  world.  Never  place  yourself  in  a  situa- 
tion which  may  expose  you  to  flattery,  or  praise, 
or  compliment  from  any  other  being.  Come  to  me, 
bowed  with  hate,  the  object  of  a  thousand  slanders, 
or  loaded  with  scorn.  Tell  me  that  women  do  not 
understand  you,  that  they  pass  close  beside  you  with- 
out seeing  you,  and  that  not  one  of  them  will  ever 
love  you.  Then  you  will  learn  what  the  heart  and  the 
love  of  Louise  hold  for  you.  Our  treasure  must 

'59 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

be  so  safely  buried  that  the  whole  world  may  tread 
on  it,  and  never  guess  it.  If  you  had  been  a  handsome 
man  I  should,  no  doubt,  never  have  bestowed  the  least 
attention  on  you,  and  so  should  never  have  discovered 
in  your  person  that  world  of  causes  which  lie  at  the 
root  of  love;  and  although  we  know  no  more  about 
these  causes  than  we  know  how  it  is  the  sun  makes  the 
flowers  bloom  or  the  fruit  ripen,  there  is  one,  never- 
theless, which  I  do  know  and  which  is  my  delight. 
Your  noble  face  keeps  its  character,  its  language,  its 
expression  for  me  alone.  It  is  I  alone  who  possess 
the  power  to  transform  you  and  turn  you  into  the 
most  lovable  man  on  earth.  Therefore  I  do  not 
choose  that  your  intellect  should  slip  out  of  my  hand. 
It  must  not  be  revealed  to  others,  any  more  than  your 
eyes,  your  charming  mouth,  and  all  your  features  may 
speak  to  them.  The  light  of  your  intelligence,  like 
the  brightness  of  your  glance,  must  be  kindled  by  me 
alone.  Remain  the  gloomy,  cold,  sullen,  and  disdain- 
ful grandee  of  Spain  you  have  been.  Then  you  were 
like  some  untamed  though  shattered  power,  amid  the 
ruins  of  which  no  man  dared  venture;  they  watched 
you  from  afar.  Now,  I  see  you  opening  up  conven- 
ient paths,  so  that  all  may  enter,  and  before  long  you 
will  be  transformed  into  a  mere  polite  Parisian.  Have 
you  forgotten  my  programme?  Your  love  was  a 
little  too  clearly  evident  in  your  joy.  My  glance  was 
needed  to  prevent  you  from  letting  the  occupants  of 
the  most  clear-sighted,  the  most  satirical  and  the  wit- 
tiest drawing-room  in  Paris  into  the  secret  that  you 

1 60 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

owed  your  brilliancy  to  Armande  Louise  Marie  de 
Chaulieu.  I  think  you  too  great-minded  to  adopt 
any  political  artifice  in  connection  with  your  love; 
but  if  you  were  not  to  treat  me  with  all  the  sim- 
plicity of  a  child,  I  should  be  sorry  for  you;  and  in 
spite  of  this  first  mistake,  you  are  still  an  object  oi 
deep  admiration  on  the  part  of 


161 


XXIII 

FROM   FELIPE   TO   LOUISE 

WHEN  God  sees  our  shortcomings,  he  sees  our  re- 
pentance too.  You  are  right,  my  dear  mistress.  I  felt 
I  had  displeased  you,  without  being  able  to  discover 
the  cause  of  your  displeasure.  But  you  have  made 
that  clear  to  me,  and  you  have  given  me  fresh  reason 
to  adore  you.  That  jealousy  of  yours,  so  like  the  jeal- 
ousy of  the  God  of  Israel,  has  filled  me  with  delight. 
There  is  nothing  more  sacred  nor  more  holy  than 
jealousy.  Oh,  my  fair  guardian  angel,  jealousy  is  the 
sentinel  who  never  slumbers;  jealousy  is,  to  love,  what 
suffering  is  to  man — a  truthful  monitor.  Be  jealous 
of  your  servant,  Louise.  The  oftener  you  strike  him, 
the  more  humbly,  submissively,  pitifully,  he  will  caress 
the  rod,  knowing  your  severity  proves  how  much  you 
care  for  him.  But  alas !  my  dear  one,  if  they  escaped 
you,  will  God  himself  give  me  credit  for  all  the  efforts 
I  have  made  to  overcome  my  own  timidity  and  subdue 
the  feelings  you  have  taken  to  be  weak  in  me.  Ah, 
it  was  a  mighty  effort  that  I  made  to  show  you  what 
I  had  been  before  I  began  to  love  you.  At  Madrid 
tny  conversation  was  considered  agreeable,  and  I 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

wanted  you  to  find  out  for  yourself  whatever  powers  I 
possessed.  If  this  is  vanity,  you  have  punished  it  very 
thoroughly.  That  last  look  of  yours  set  me  trembling 
as  I  have  never  trembled  before — not  even  when  I 
saw  the  French  troops  before  Cadiz — not  even  when 
my  life  hung  on  a  deceitful  sentence  spoken  by  my 
King.  Vainly  had  I  sought  the  cause  of  your  dis- 
pleasure, and  the  disunion  of  our  souls  drove  me  to 
despair,  for  I  must  act  on  your  will,  think  with  your 
thought,  see  through  your  eyes,  joy  in  your  delight, 
suffer  by  your  pain,  as  surely  as  I  feel  the  sensations 
of  heat  and  cold.  To  me  the  crime  and  the  anguish 
lay  in  the  lack  of  simultaneity  in  that  heart-life  of  ours, 
which  you  have  made  so  beautiful.  I  have  displeased 
her,  said  I  to  myself  a  thousand  times  over,  like  a  mad- 
man. My  beautiful,  noble  Louise,  if  anything  could 
have  increased  my  absolute  devotion  to  you,  and  my 
unshakeable  belief  in  your  pure  conscience,  it  would 
be  your  teaching,  which  has  fallen  on  my  heart  like  a 
new  light.  You  have  explained  my  own  feelings  to 
me.  You  have  cleared  up  things  that  have  appeared 
confusedly  to  my  mind.  .  .  .  Oh,  if  this  be  your  idea 
of  punishment,  what  are  your  rewards?  But  to  have 
been  accepted  as  your  servant  already  fulfilled  all  my 
desire.  To  you  I  owe  an  unhoped-for  life.  I  am 
vowed  to  you.  I  do  not  draw  my  breath  in  vain.  My 
strength  has  found  employment  were  it  only  in  suffer- 
ing for  your  sake.  I  have  told  you  before,  I  say  it  now 
again,  you  will  always  find  me  what  I  was  when  I  of- 
fered you  my  humble  and  modest  service.  Yes,  even 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

lost  and  dishonoured,  as  you  say  you  might  become, 
my  adoration  would  be  deepened  by  your  self-sought 
misfortunes.  I  would  cleanse  your  wounds,  I  would 
heal  them  up,  my  prayers  should  convince  the  Al- 
mighty of  your  innocence  and  that  your  shortcomings 
are  another's  crimes.  Have  I  not  told  you  that  my 
heart  holds  all  the  diverse  affections  that  a  father,  a 
mother,  a  brother,  a  sister,  would  feel  for  you?  That 
above  and  beyond  all  things,  I  am  your  family — every- 
thing or  nothing,  just  as  you  may  choose?  But  is  it 
not  you  who  have  imprisoned  so  many  hearts  within 
the  heart  of  this  one  lover?  Forgive  me,  then,  if, 
now  and  then,  the  lover  overrides  the  father  and  the 
brother,  when  you  remember  that  beneath  the  lover 
the  father  and  the  brother  still  remain.  If  you  could 
read  my  heart,  when  I  see  you,  radiant  in  your  beauty, 
calmly  seated,  the  cynosure  of  every  eye,  in  your  car- 
riage at  the  Champs-filysees,  or  in  your  box  at  the 
opera.  .  .  .  Ah,  if  you  knew  how  little  personal  feel- 
ing there  is  in  the  pride  with  which  I  listen  to  the 
praise  extorted  by  your  beauty  and  your  dignity,  and 
how  I  love  the  unknown  strangers  who  gaze  at  you 
in  admiration.  When  you  chance  to  rejoice  my  soul 
by  a  greeting,  I  am  proud  and  humble,  both  at  once. 
I  go  on  my  way  as  though  God  had  blessed  me.  I 
come  home  rejoicing,  and  my  joy  leaves  a  long  furrow 
of  light  within  my  soul.  It  shines  even  in  the  clouds 
of  smoke  from  my  cigarette,  and  makes  me  feel  more 
sure  than  ever  that  every  drop  of  the  blood  that 
courses  in  my  veins  is  yours  alone.  After  I  have  seen 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

you,  I  come  back  to  my  study,  decked  with  a  Moor- 
ish splendour,  utterly  eclipsed  by  the  beauty  of  your 
portrait,  the  instant  I  touch  the  spring  that  keeps  it 
hidden  from  every  eye.  And  then  I  lose  myself  in 
labyrinths  of  contemplation.  I  live  over  whole  poems 
of  bliss.  Soaring  on  high,  I  gaze  over  the  course  of  a 
whole  future  existence  on  which  I  dare  to  set  my 
hope.  Has  it  ever  happened  to  you  in  the  silence  of 
the  night,  or  athwart  the  clatter  of  the  gay  world,  to 
hear  a  voice  whispering  in  the  dear  dainty  little  ear  I 
worship?  Do  you  know  nothing  of  the  endless  sup- 
plications I  make  to  you?  By  dint  of  gazing  at  you  in 
the  silence,  I  have  ended  by  discovering  the  reason  of 
your  every  feature,  and  how  each  corresponds  with 
some  perfection  of  your  inner  being.  Then  I  make 
Spanish  sonnets — sonnets  of  which  you  know  nothing, 
for  my  verses  are  too  far  below  my  subject,  and  I  dare 
not  send  them  to  you — on  the  agreement  between 
these  two  exquisite  natures.  So  utterly  is  my  heart 
absorbed  in  yours,  that  I  am  never  a  moment  without 
thinking  of  you;  and  if  you  ceased  to  quicken  my  life, 
after  this  fashion,  I  should  be  full  of  suffering.  Now, 
Louise,  do  you  understand  the  anguish  I  endured  at 
having,  most  unwittingly,  roused  your  displeasure, 
and  being  unable  to  discover  its  cause?  This  fair  dual 
existence  was  checked,  and  I  felt  an  icy  chill  upon  my 
heart.  At  last,  in  my  utter  inability  to  account  for  the 
discord,  I  began  to  think  you  had  ceased  to  care  for 
me.  I  was  turning  back,  very  sadly  but  still  thank- 
fully, to  my  station  as  your  servant,  when  the  arrival 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

of  your  letter  filled  my  heart  with  joy.    Oh,  chide  me 
like  this  forever! 

A  child  who  had  fallen  down,  raised  himself  up, 
and,  hiding  his  suffering,  said  to  his  mother,  "  Forgive 
me."  Yes,  he  craved  her  pardon  for  having  given 
her  pain.  Well,  I  am  as  that  child.  I  have  not 
changed,  I  give  you  the  key  to  my  nature  with  all 
the  submission  of  a  slave.  But,  dear  Louise,  I  will 
make  no  more  false  steps.  See  to  it  that  the  chain 
which  binds  me  to  you  is  always  kept  so  taut  that  & 
touch  may  impart  your  slightest  wish  to  the  man  who 
will  always  be  your  slave, 


166 


XXIV 

FROM  LOUISE  DE  CHAULIEU  TO  RENEE  DE  I/ESTORADE 


October, 

DEAR  FRIEND:  You  who  were  married  within 
two  months  to  a  poor  ailing  body  into  whose  mother 
you  have  turned  yourself,  can  know  nothing  of  the 
frightful  vicissitudes  of  that  drama  played  out  in 
human  hearts  which  we  call  love  —  wherein  everything 
in  one  moment  turns  to  tragedy,  with  death  in  a  look 
or  in  a  careless  answer.  I  have  kept  back  a  cruel  but 
a  decisive  test,  which  shall  be  Felipe's  final  ordeal. 
I  was  resolved  to  find  out  whether  I  am  loved  "  in  spite 
of  all,"  that  noble  and  sublime  motto  of  the  Royalists, 
and  why  not  of  Catholics  as  well? 

He  walked  up  and  down  with  me  under  the  lime- 
trees  in  our  garden  the  whole  night  long  and  not  even 
the  shadow  of  a  doubt  was  in  his  heart.  The  next 
morning  he  loved  me  better,  and  I  was  just  as  pure 
and  noble  and  maidenly  in  his  eyes  as  I  had  been  be- 
fore. He  had  not  taken  the  smallest  advantage  of  me. 
Oh,  he  is  a  true  Spaniard;  a  true  Abencerrage.  He 
climbed  my  wall  in  the  dark  to  kiss  the  hand  I  held 
out  to  him  from  my  balcony.  He  nearly  killed  him- 
self. But  how  many  young  men  would  have  done  the 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

same!  All  that  is  nothing.  Christians  will  endure 
the  most  frightful  martyrdom  for  the  sake  of  reaching 
Heaven. 

The  day  before  yesterday,  in  the  evening,  I  drew 
the  King's  future  Ambassador  to  the  Spanish  Court, 
my  much-honoured  father,  apart,  and  said  to  him, 
with  a  smile: 

"  Sir,  a  few  of  your  friends  believe  you  are  about  to 
marry  your  beloved  Armande  to  the  nephew  of  an 
Ambassador,  who,  in  his  desire  for  this  alliance,  which 
he  has  long  been  seeking,  settles  his  fortune  and  his 
titles  on  the  young  couple  after  his  death,  and  at  once 
insures  them  an  income  of  a  hundred  thousand  francs, 
besides  settling  a  dowry  of  eight  hundred  thousand 
francs  upon  the  bride.  Your  daughter  weeps,  but 
bows  to  the  resistless  authority  of  your  majestic  and 
paternal  will.  Some  spiteful  folk  are  saying  that  her 
tears  cloak  a  selfish  and  ambitious  nature.  We  are 
going  to  the  noble's  box  at  the  opera  to-night,  and 
the  Baron  de  Macumer  will  be  there." 

"  A  hitch  in  the  negotiations?  "  said  my  father, 
as  if  I  had  been  an  ambassadress. 

"  You  are  taking  Clarissa  Harlowe  for  Figaro," 
I  replied,  with  a  glance  full  of  scorn  and  irony. 
"  When  you  see  my  right  hand  ungloved,  you'll  con- 
tradict this  impertinent  tale,  and  let  it  be  seen  that  it 
offends  you." 

"  I  need  have  no  anxiety  about  your  future.  You 
have  no  more  the  mind  of  a  young  girl  than  Jeanne 
d'Arc  had  a  woman's  heart.  You'll  be  quite  happy. 

1 68 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

You'll  never  love  any  one,  and  you'll  let  yourself  be 
loved." 

This  time  I  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What's  amiss  with  you,  little  coquette? "  he 
said. 

"  I  tremble  for  the  interests  of  my  country,"  quoth 
I,  and  seeing  he  did  not  understand,  I  added,  "  at 
Madrid." 

"  You  have  no  idea,"  said  he  to  the  Duchesse, 
"  how  this  young  lady  has  learnt  to  laugh  her  father  to 
scorn  in  one  short  year." 

"  Armande  laughs  everything  to  scorn,"  said  my 
mother,  looking  full  at  me. 

"  What  can  you  mean?  "  I  cried. 

"  Nothing  daunts  you,  not  even  the  night  damps, 
which  might  give  you  rheumatism,"  she  replied,  with 
another  look. 

"  The  mornings  are  so  burning  hot,"  I  answered. 

The  Duchesse  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  It  is  high  time  she  were  married,"  said  my  father. 
"  It  will  be  done,  I  hope,  before  I  leave  Paris." 

"  Yes,  if  you  choose,"  I  answered  simply. 

Two  hours  later  we  were  blooming  like  four  roses 
in  the  front  of  the  box — the  Duchesse  de  Maufrig- 
neuse,  Mme.  d'Espard,  my  mother,  and  myself.  I 
sat  sideways,  with  one  shoulder  turned  to  the  audi- 
ence, so  that  I  could  see  everything,  without  being 
seen,  that  happened  in  that  roomy  box,  which  fills  up 
one  of  the  corners  cut  off  the  back  of  the  theatre,  be- 
tween the  pillars.  At  the  first  entr'acte  a  young  man 

160 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

of  feminine  beauty,  whom  I  always  call  Le  Roi  des 
Ribands,  made  his  appearance.  Comte  Henri  de  Mar- 
say  entered  the  box  with  an  epigram  in  his  eyes,  a 
smile  on  his  lips,  and  a  general  air  of  joy  and  delight. 
He  paid  the  preliminary  civilities  to  my  mother,  to 
Mme.  d'Espard,  to  the  Duchesse,  and  to  M.  de 
Canalis,  and  then  he  said  to  me: 

"  I  wonder  whether  mine  will  be  your  first  con- 
gratulations on  an  event  which  will  make  you  the  ob- 
ject of  much  envy." 

"  A  marriage?  "  I  replied.  "  Must  a  young  person 
just  out  of  her  convent  remind  you  that  the  marriages 
that  are  talked  about  never  come  to  pass?  " 

M.  de  Marsay  had  leant  over  to  whisper  in  Ma- 
cumer's  ear,  and  by  the  mere  motion  of  his  lips  I  knew 
exactly  what  he  was  telling  him. 

"  Baron,  you  may  have  fallen  in  love  with  that 
little  flirt,  who  has  been  making  use  of  you.  But  as  it 
is  with  you  a  question  of  marriage  and  not  of  a 
mere  passion,  'tis  always  just  as  well  to  know  what  is 
going  on." 

Macumer  shot  one  of  those  glances  of  his,  which  to 
me  are  a  perfect  poem,  at  the  officious  scandalmonger, 
and  cast  him  back  some  such  rejoinder  as  "  I  love  no 
little  flirt,"  with  a  look  which  so  delighted  me  that 
the  instant  I  saw  my  father  I  took  off  my  glove. 
Felipe  had  not  felt  the  slightest  fear,  nor  the  tiniest 
suspicion.  He  has  thoroughly  realized  all  my  expec- 
tations of  his  nature.  All  his  belief  is  solely  centred 
in  me  alone,  the  world  and  its  lies  have  no  hold  upon 

170 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

him.  The  Abencerrage  never  moved  a  muscle,  his 
blue  blood  never  tinged  his  olive  cheek.  The  two 
young  Counts  went  out  together.  Then  I  said  to 
Macumer  laughingly,  "  M.  de  Marsay  has  been  mak- 
ing you  some  epigram  about  me." 

"  Much  more  than  epigram,"  he  answered,  "  an 
epithalamium." 

"  You  are  talking  Greek  to  me,"  I  answered  with 
a  smile,  and  I  rewarded  him  with  a  certain  look  which 
always  puts  him  out  of  countenance. 

"  I  hope  so,  indeed,"  cried  my  father,  turning 
to  Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse.  "  Society  is  full  of  the 
vilest  gossip.  The  moment  a  young  lady  begins  to 
go  out,  everybody  is  wild  to  see  her  married,  and  the 
most  absurd  stories  are  invented.  I  will  never  ask 
Armande  to  marry  against  her  own  inclination.  I  shall 
go  and  take  a  turn  in  the  crush-room,  for  people  may 
think  I  am  allowing  this  story  to  get  about  so  as 
to  put  the  idea  of  this  marriage  into  the  Ambas- 
sador's head,  and  Caesar's  daughter  must  be  even 
less  doubted  than  his  wife,  who  must  be  above  all 
suspicion." 

The  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  and  Mme.  d'Es- 
pard  glanced,  first  at  my  mother,  and  then  at  the  Bar- 
on, with  an  expression  at  once  eager,  mocking,  sly, 
and  full  of  suppressed  inquiry.  The  wily  creatures  had 
guessed  something  at  last.  Of  all  hidden  things  love 
is  the  most  public,  and  I  really  believe  we  women  ex- 
hale it  from  our  persons;  the  woman,  indeed,  who 
could  conceal  it  must  be  a  perfect  monster.  Our  eyes 

'  VOL  , 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

reveal  even  more  than  do  our  tongues.  After  I  had 
enjoyed  the  exquisite  delight  of  finding  Felipe  as 
noble  as  I  could  wish  him  to  be,  I  naturally  began  to 
long  for  something  more.  I  made  him  the  precon- 
certed signal  which  was  to  bring  him  to  my  window 
by  the  dangerous  road  already  known  to  you.  A 
couple  of  hours  later  I  found  him  there,  erect  as  a 
statue,  standing  against  a  wall,  his  hand  resting  on  a 
corner  of  my  balcony  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  glim- 
mer of  the  lights  within  my  room. 

"  My  dear  Felipe,"  I  said,  "  you  have  done  well  to- 
night. You  have  behaved  as  I  should  have  behaved 
myself,  if  I  had  been  told  you  were  going  to  be 
married." 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  told  me  of  such  an 
intention  before  any  one  else,"  he  replied. 

"  And  what  is  your  right  to  that  privilege?  " 

"  The  right  of  a  devoted  servant." 

"  Are  you  that  really?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  and  I  shall  never  change." 

"  Well,  then,  if  this  marriage  were  necessary — if  I 
were  to  make  up  my  mind " 

The  soft  light  of  the  moon  was  brightened,  as  it 
were,  by  the  two  glances  he  shot,  first  on  me  and 
then  at  the  abyss  below  the  wall.  It  was  as  though 
he  were  asking  himself  whether  we  might  not  die 
there  together  in  one  crash.  But  the  thought  which 
flashed  like  lightning  over  his  face  and  eyes  was 
instantly  mastered  by  a  mightier  force  than  that  of 
passion. 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

"  An  Arab  has  only  one  oath,"  said  he,  in  a  voice 
that  choked.  "  I  am  your  servant;  I  belong  to  you;  I 
will  live  my  whole  life  for  you." 

The  grasp  of  his  hand  on  the  balcony  seemed  to 
weaken.  I  laid  my  hand  on  his,  and  said: 

"  Felipe,  my  friend,  from  this  moment  I  am  your 
wife,  by  my  own  free-will.  Go  to  my  father  in  the 
morning  and  ask  him  for  my  hand.  He  desires  to 
keep  back  my  fortune,  but  you  will  undertake  to  settle 
it  on  me,  without  having  received  it,  and  your  suit 
will  most  certainly  be  accepted.  Now  I  am  not  Ar- 
mande  de  Chaulieu  any  more.  Depart  at  once! 
Louise  de  Macumer  must  not  be  guilty  of  the  slightest 
imprudence." 

He  turned  pale,  his  knees  bent  under  him.  He 
sprang  to  the  ground,  a  full  ten  feet,  without  hurting 
himself  in  the  least.  Then,  after  having  caused  me  the 
most  horrible  alarm,  he  waved  his  hand  to  me  and 
disappeared. 

"  So  I  am  loved,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  as  never 
woman  was  loved  before."  And  I  fell  asleep  as  happy 
as  a  child.  My  fate  was  settled  forever.  Toward  two 
o'clock  my  father  sent  for  me  to  his  study,  where  I 
found  the  Duchesse  and  Macumer.  There  was  a  short 
exchange  of  civil  speeches.  I  answered  very  simply 
that  if  M.  Henarez  and  my  father  were  agreed,  I 
had  no  reason  to  oppose  their  wishes.  Thereupon  my 
mother  kept  the  Baron  to  dinner,  after  which  meal  we 
all  four  went  out  to  drive  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  I 
cast  a  very  satirical  look  at  M.  de  Marsay  as  he 

173 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

rode  past  us,  for  he  noticed  Macumer  and  my  father  in 
the  front  of  the  carriage. 

My  dearest  Felipe  has  had  his  cards  printed  again, 

thus: 

HENAREZ, 

Des  Dues  de  Soria,  Baron  de  Macumer. 

Every  morning  he  brings  me  the  most  delicious 
and  magnificent  bouquet.  In  the  midst  of  it  I  always 
find  a  letter  containing  a  Spanish  sonnet  in  my  honour 
which  he  has  written  during  the  night. 

To  avoid  making  this  packet  too  heavy,  I  send 
you,  as  specimens,  the  first  and  the  last  of  these 
sonnets,  which  I  have  translated  for  you  word  for 
word  and  line  by  line. 

FIRST  SONNET 

"  More  than  once,  dressed  in  a  thin  silk  vest — 
With  my  sword  drawn,  and  a  pulse  that  throbbed  no  whit  the 

faster — 

I  have  awaited  the  onslaught  of  the  furious  bull 
Whose  horns  are  sharper  than  the  crescent  moon. 

"  Humming  an  Andalusian  seguidillo,  I  have  climbed 
The  slope  of  a  redoubt,  under  a  hail  of  lead  ; 
I  have  wagered  my  life  on  the  green  cloth  of  chance. 
With  no  more  care  for  it  than  for  a  gold  doubloon. 

"  Once  I  would  have  snatched  the  ball  from  a  cannon's  mouth, 
But  I  believe  I  have  grown  more  timid  than  a  frightened  hare—- 
Or a  child  that  sees  a  ghost  in  the  fold  of  his  window  curtain. 

**  For  when  your  gentle  eyes  are  turned  on  me — 
A  cold  sweat  stands  on  my  brow,  my  knees  bend  under  me— 
I  tremble,  I  shrink,  and  all  my  courage  fails." 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

SECOND   SONNET 

"  Last  night  I  longed  for  sleep  that  I  might  dream  of  thec — 
But  jealous  slumber  fled  my  eyes — 
I  drew  near  the  balcony  and  gazed  upon  the  sky : 
For  when  I  think  of  thee  my  eyes  look  always  upwards. 

"  Then  came  a  strange  phenomenon,  which  love  alone  can  explain— 
The  firmament  had  lost  its  sapphire  tinge — 
The  stars  like  lustreless  diamonds  in  their  golden  setting 
Looked  down  with  dim  eyes,  shedding  chilly  rays. 

"  The  moon,  no  longer  painted  with  silver  and  lily  white, 
Travelled  mournfully  across  the  dreary  sky, 
For  thou  hast  robbed  the  heavens  of  all  their  splendour  I 

*•  The  whiteness  of  the  moon  gleams  on  thy  lovely  forehead — 
All  the  blue  of  heaven  shines  in  thine  eyes, 
And  thy  lashes  are  all  star-beams ! " 

Could  any  young  girl  be  assured  she  fills  all  her 
lover's  thoughts  in  more  delightful  fashion?  What 
think  you  of  this  love  which  lavishes  all  the  flowers 
of  intelligence,  and  all  the  flowers  of  earth,  on  the  ex- 
pression of  his  fervour?  For  the  last  ten  days  I  have 
been  making  acquaintance  with  the  far-famed  Span- 
ish gallantry  of  bygone  times. 

Well,  my  dear,  and  how  do  things  go  with  you  at 
La  Crampade,  where  I  so  often  take  my  walks  abroad 
and  watch  the  progress  of  our  agricultural  operations? 
Haven't  you  a  word  to  tell  me  about  our  mulberry 
trees  and  all  the  things  we  planted  last  winter?  Does 
everything  succeed  after  your  heart's  desire?  Have 
the  flowers  blossomed  in  your  wifely  bosom  even  as 
they  have  bloomed  in  our  shrubberies — I  dare  not 
say  our  garden-beds.  Does  Louis  still  sing  you  mad- 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

rigals?  Do  you  get  on  well  together?  Is  the  gentle 
murmur  of  your  streamlet  of  conjugal  affection  a 
better  thing  than  the  turbulent  torrent  of  my  love? 
Is  my  sweet  doctor  in  petticoats  vexed  with  me?  I 
can  hardly  believe  it,  and  if  I  did  I  would  send  Felipe 
to  cast  himself  at  your  feet  and  bring  me  back  for- 
giveness or  your  head.  My  life  here,  dear  love,  is  ex- 
quisite. I  would  fain  know  how  life  goes  with  you 
in  Provence.  We  have  just  increased  our  family  by 
the  addition  of  a  Spaniard,  as  brown  as  a  Havana 
cigar,  and  I  am  still  awaiting  your  congratulations. 

Seriously,  my  sweet  Renee,  I  am  uneasy.  I  am 
afraid  you  may  be  gulping  down  some  misery  of  your 
own  for  fear  it  should  sadden  my  rapture.  Write 
me  without  delay.  Send  me  several  pages  describing 
all  the  tiniest  incidents  of  your  life,  and  mind  you  tell 
me  if  you  are  still  holding  out,  if  your  "  free-will " 
is  still  erect,  or  on  its  knees,  or  sitting  meekly  down 
—which  would  be  serious.  Do  you  fancy  the  events 
of  your  married  life  do  not  occupy  my  thoughts? 
Sometimes  all  you  have  written  me  sends  me  into 
a  reverie.  Often  when  people  have  thought  I  was 
watching  the  ballet  twirl  at  the  opera,  I  have  been 
saying  to  myself:  "  Half  past  nine  o'clock  now,  per- 
haps she  is  going  to  bed.  Is  she  all  alone  with  her 
free-will?  or  has  her  free-will  gone  to  join  all  the  other 
free- wills  whose  owners  have  ceased  to  value  them?  " 

A  thousand  loves  to  you! 


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XXV 
FROM  RENE"E  DE  L'ESTORADE  TO  LOUISE  DE  CHAULIEU 

October. 

IMPERTINENCE:  Why  should  I  have  written  to 
you?  What  was  there  for  me  to  tell?  While  you  are 
leading  your  life  crammed  with  love's  joys  and  terrors, 
the  furies  and  the  blossoms  of  delight  you  have  de- 
scribed to  me — a  life  at  which  I  look  on  as  though 
it  were  some  well-acted  play — my  existence  follows  a 
course  as  regular  and  monotonous  as  that  of  any 
convent.  We  are  always  in  our  beds  by  nine  o'clock 
at  night.  We  are  always  up  with  the  sun.  Our 
meals  are  always  served  with  the  most  exasperating 
punctuality.  Never  does  the  most  trifling  accident 
break  the  calm.  I  have  grown  accustomed,  and  with- 
out much  difficulty,  to  this  regular  arrangement  of 
my  time.  This  may  be  natural.  What  would  life  be, 
unless  it  were  ruled  by  fixed  laws,  which,  so  Louis  and 
the  astronomers  declare,  rule  every  sphere.  Orderli- 
ness never  wearies  one,  and  besides,  I  have  made  my- 
self rules,  as  to  my  toilet,  which  fill  up  all  my  time 
between  the  hour  at  which  I  rise  and  that  of  breakfast. 
My  sense  of  feminine  duty  makes  me  desire  to  look 
charming  at  the  meal.  It  is  a  satisfaction  to  myself, 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

and  a  very  keen  pleasure  to  the  kind  old  father  and 
to  Louis.  After  breakfast  we  go  out  of  doors.  When 
the  newspapers  make  their  appearance  I  retire  to  see 
after  my  household  duties,  to  read — for  I  read  a  great 
deal — or  to  write  to  you.  I  reappear  an  hour  before 
we  dine,  and  after  that  we  play  cards,  or  pay  visits  or 
receive  them.  Thus  my  days  are  spent,  between  a 
happy  old  man,  who  has  no  wish  ungratified,  and  a 
younger  one,  whose  whole  bliss  is  centred  in  me. 
Louis's  happiness  is  so  immense  that  his  joy  has 
warmed  my  heart  at  last.  Our  happiness,  of  course, 
is  not  exactly  pleasure.  Sometimes  of  an  evening, 
when  I  am  not  wanted  for  the  game  and  lie  back 
quietly  in  an  arm-chair,  my  meditation  grows  so  deep 
that  I  pass  into  your  very  being.  Then  I  share  your 
beautiful  existence — so  full  of  incident  and  colour 
and  mighty  stir — and  I  wonder  whither  this  turbulent 
preface  will  lead  you.  Will  it  not  kill  the  book?  You 
may  have  all  the  illusions  of  love,  dear  child,  but  the 
realities  of  the  married  state  are  all  that  is  left  to  me. 
Yes,  your  love  passages  sound  to  me  like  a  dream. 
And  I  find  it  quite  difficult  to  comprehend  wherefore 
you  make  them  so  romantic.  You  want  a  man  with 
a  heart  stronger  than  his  sense,  with  more  virtue  and 
nobility  than  love.  You  want  the  embodiment  of 
every  young  girl's  dream.  You  ask  for  sacrifice  that 
you  may  reward  it;  you  put  your  Felipe  to  the  test 
to  discover  whether  hope,  longing,  curiosity,  will  en- 
dure. But,  simple  child,  behind  all  your  fanciful 
adornments  stands  an  altar,  before  which  an  eternal 

178 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

bond  is  preparing  for  you.  On  the  very  morrow  of 
the  wedding  day,  the  grim  fact  whereby  the  maid  be- 
comes a  woman,  and  the  lover  a  husband,  may  over- 
throw the  whole  of  the  dainty  edifice  your  cunning 
foresight  has  built  up.  Learn,  once  for  all,  that  two 
lovers,  every  whit  as  much  as  a  couple  married  as 
Louis  and  I  have  married,  go  forth,  as  Rabelais  puts  it, 
"to  meet,  beneath  their  wedded  joys,  a  great  Per- 
haps." 

I  do  not  blame  you — though  it  was  a  giddy  thing 
to  do — for  talking  to  Don  Felipe  in  your  garden,  for 
asking  him  questions,  for  spending  a  night  on  your 
balcony  while  he  stood  on  the  wall.  But,  child,  this 
is  trifling  with  life,  and  I  dread  lest  life  should  trifle 
with  you.  I  dare  not  advise  you  to  do  what  my  expe- 
rience tells  me  would  be  best  for  your  own  happiness. 
But  let  me  tell  you  once  more,  out  of  my  distant 
valley,  that  the  secret  of  a  successful  marriage  lies  in 
these  two  words:  Resignation  and  Sacrifice.  For  I 
see  plainly  that  in  spite  of  all  your  tests,  your  coquet- 
tish ways,  and  your  cautious  reconnoitring,  you  will 
marry,  in  the  end,  just  exactly  as  I  have  married.  By 
sharpening  desire  you  deepen  the  precipice  a  little — 
that  is  all! 

Oh,  how  I  wish  I  could  see  the  Baron  de  Macumer 
and  have  a  couple  of  hours'  talk  with  him — so  in' 
tensely  do  I  desire  your  happiness! 


179 


XXVI 

FROM  LOUISE  DE  CHAULIEU  TO  REN* E  DE  I/ESTORADE 

March,  1825. 

As  Felipe,  with  true  Saracen  generosity,  has  real- 
ized all  my  parents'  plans,  and  settled  my  fortune  on 
me,  without  receiving  it  from  them,  the  Duchesse  is 
even  more  good-natured  to  me  than  before.  She  calls 
me  "  little  sly-boots,"  "  little  rogue  ";  she  vows  I  have 
"  a  sharp  little  nose." 

"  But,  dear  mamma,"  said  I,  the  night  before  the 
signature  of  the  marriage  contract,  "  you  are  writing 
down  the  effect  of  the  truest,  the  simplest,  the  most 
disinterested,  the  most  absorbing  love  that  ever  ex- 
isted to  policy,  to  cunning,  and  to  clever  manage- 
ment. Please  understand  that  I  am  not  at  all 
the  '  rogue '  for  whom  you  do  me  the  honour  to 
take  me." 

"  Come,  come,  Armande,"  she  said,  as  she  threw 
her  arm  around  my  neck  and  drew  me  near  her  to 
kiss  my  forehead.  "  You  didn't  choose  to  go  back 
to  your  convent,  you  didn't  choose  to  live  unmarried, 
and  like  the  noble  and  beautiful  daughter  of  the  Chau- 
lieus  you  are,  you  realized  the  necessity  of  raising  up 
your  father's  house."  ...  If  you  only  knew,  Renee, 

180 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

what  flattery  lay  in  those  last  words  for  the  Duke, 
who  was  listening  to  our  talk!  "  I  have  watched  you 
for  a  whole  winter,  poking  your  little  nose  into  every 
corner,  weighing  men  well  and  truly,  and  recognising 
the  real  nature  of  French  society  as  it  now  exists. 
And  then  you  pitched  on  the  one  and  only  Spaniard 
who  was  capable  of  insuring  you  the  delightful  exist- 
ence led  by  a  wife  who  rules  supreme  within  her  home. 
My  dear  child,  you  have  managed  him,  just  exactly 
as  Tullia  manages  your  brother." 

"  What  a  school  my  sister's  convent  is!  "  cried  my 
father. 

I  cast  a  look  at  him  that  struck  him  dumb.  Then 
I  turned  to  the  Duchesse,  and  I  said: 

"  Madame,  I  love  my  fiance,  Felipe  de  Soria,  with 
all  the  strength  of  my  heart.  Although  this  love  was 
quite  involuntary,  and  although  I  fought  against  it 
when  it  first  rose  up  in  my  heart,  I  can  swear  to  you 
that  I  never  gave  way  to  it  till  I  was  sure  the  Baron 
de  Macumer  possessed  a  heart  worthy  of  mine,  and 
that  the  delicacy,  the  generosity,  the  devotedness,  the 
whole  character  and  feeling  of  his  nature,  coincided 
with  my  own." 

"  But,  my  dear  child,"  she  broke  in,  "  he  is  as  ugly 
" 

"  As  you  choose,"  I  answered  swiftly,  "  but  I  love 
his  ugliness." 

"  Listen,  Armande,"  said  my  father.  "  If  you  love 
him,  and  if  you  have  had  strength  to  master  your 
passion,  you  mustn't  imperil  your  future  happiness. 

181 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Now  happiness  largely  depends  on  the  first  days  of 
married  life." 

"  Why  not  say  the  first  nights,"  cried  my  mother. 
"  Leave  us,  sir,"  the  Duchesse  added,  looking  at  my 
father. 

"  In  three  days,  little  one,  you  are  to  be  married," 
whispered  my  mother  in  my  ear.  "  So  it  behoves  me 
now  to  give  you,  without  any  vulgar  snivelling,  the 
weighty  counsel  every  mother  gives  her  child  in  such 
a  case.  You  love  the  man  you  are  about  to  marry, 
therefore  I  need  waste  no  pity  either  on  you  or  on 
myself.  You  have  only  been  with  me  for  a  year.  If 
that  has  been  long  enough  for  me  to  grow  fond  of 
you,  it  is  not  a  length  of  time  that  would  warrant  my 
bursting  into  tears  over  the  loss  of  your  company. 
Your  wit  has  been  even  greater  than  your  beauty. 
You  have  flattered  my  maternal  vanity,  and  you  have 
behaved  like  a  good-tempered  and  lovable  daughter, 
and  you  will  always  find  me  an  excellent  mother. 
You  smile?  .  .  .  Alas!  often  when  a  mother  and 
daughter  have  got  on  well  together,  the  two  married 
women  will  fall  out.  I  want  you  to  be  happy.  There- 
fore listen  to  me.  The  love  you  now  feel  is  a  childish 
love — the  love  that  is  natural  to  every  woman,  all 
women  being  born  to  cling  to  some  man.  But,  my 
child,  the  sad  thing  is  that  there  is  only  one  man  in 
the  world  for  each  of  us — one,  not  two.  And  the  man 
we  are  destined  to  cherish  is  not  always  the  man  we 
have  chosen  to  be  our  husband,  believing  that  we  loved 
him.  Strange  as  these  words  may  seem  to  you,  I  be- 

182 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

seech  you  to  ponder  them.  If  we  do  not  love  the  man 
we  have  chosen,  that  may  be  our  fault  or  his,  or  the 
fault  of  circumstances  over  which  neither  he  nor  we 
have  any  control  at  all.  Yet  none  of  these  things 
need  prevent  the  man  our  family  chooses  for  us,  the 
man  to  whom  our  heart  turns,  from  being  the  man 
of  our  love.  The  barrier  that  rises  later  between  him 
and  us  is  often  the  outcome  of  a  lack  of  perseverance 
on  the  husband's  part,  or  ours.  To  turn  a  husband 
into  a  lover  is  as  delicate  an  undertaking  as  to  turn 
a  lover  into  a  husband,  and  this  last  task  you  have 
just  performed  most  admirably.  Well,  I  say  again,  I 
want  you  to  be  happy.  So  remember,  henceforward, 
that  your  first  three  months  of  wedlock  may  bring 
you  great  unhappiness,  unless  you  on  your  part  sub- 
mit yourself  to  the  married  state,  with  all  the  obedi- 
ence, the  tenderness,  and  the  wit  you  have  displayed 
in  your  love-making. 

*  For,  my  little  rogue,  you  have  indulged  in  all 
the  innocent  delights  of  a  clandestine  love  affair.  If 
the  beginnings  of  your  happy  love  are  clouded  by 
disappointment,  dissatisfaction,  and  even  by  suffering, 
then  come  to  me.  Don't  hope  too  much  from  mar- 
riage at  the  outset.  It  may  very  possibly  bring  you 
more  pains  than  pleasures.  Your  happiness  will  need 
as  much  careful  cultivation  as  your  love  has  needed. 
Even  if  you  were  by  chance  to  love  your  lover,  you 
would  always  have  the  father  of  your  children.  There, 
dear  child,  lies  the  whole  of  our  social  life.  Sacrifice 
everything  to  the  man  whose  name  is  yours,  the  veiy 

183 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

slightest  hurt  to  whose  honour  and  reputation  must 
inflict  a  frightful  breech  upon  your  own.  This  sacri- 
fice of  everything  to  the  husband  is  not  merely  an 
absolute  duty  to  all  women  of  our  condition,  it  is 
also  the  wisest  course  in  our  own  interest.  The  no- 
blest prerogative  of  the  great  principles  of  morality 
is  that  they  are  true  and  profitable  whatever  may  be 
the  point  from  which  we  study  them.  I  have  said 
enough  of  all  this.  Now,  I  think  you  are  disposed 
to  be  jealous;  and  I,  too,  my  dear,  am  jealous!  .  .  . 
But  I  would  not  have  you  foolishly  jealous.  Listen 
to  me  again.  Jealousy  which  lets  itself  be  seen  is 
like  a  policy  in  which  all  the  cards  are  laid  upon  the 
table.  To  acknowledge  jealousy,  to  betray  it,  is  surely 
to  show  one's  hand,  and  that  when  one  knows  nothing 
of  one's  adversary's  cards.  In  every  circumstance 
we  must  know  how  to  suffer  in  silence.  However, 
I  shall  have  some  serious  talk  with  Macumer  about 
you  the  night  before  you  are  married." 

I  took  hold  of  my  mother's  beautiful  arm  and 
kissed  her  hand,  leaving  upon  it  a  tear,  which  the  tone 
of  her  voice  had  brought  to  my  eyes.  In  that  lofty 
teaching,  worthy  alike  of  herself  and  of  me,  I  recog- 
nised a  deep  wisdom,  an  affection  untouched  by  any 
social  bigotry,  and,  above  all,  a  real  esteem  for  my 
own  character.  Those  simple  words  of  hers  summed 
up  the  precepts  life  and  experience  had  taught  her — 
it  may  be  at  a  bitter  cost.  She  was  touched,  and 
said,  looking  at  me: 

"  Dear  little  girl,  you  have  a  terrible  crossing  be- 
184 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

fore  you;  and  most  women,  if  they  are  ignorant  or 
bereft  of  their  illusions,  are  capable  of  doing  like 
Lord  Westmoreland." 

At  that  we  both  began  to  laugh.  To  explain  the 
joke,  I  must  tell  you  that  at  dinner  the  night  before, 
a  Russian  Princess  had  been  telling  us  that  Lord 
Westmoreland,  who  had  suffered  frightfully  when  he 
crossed  the  Channel  on  his  way  to  Italy,  turned  back 
when  he  heard  that  he  had  to  cross  the  Alps  as  well. 
"  I've  had  enough  of  crossings,"  said  he.  You'll  un- 
derstand, Renee,  that  your  dreary  philosophy  and 
my  mother's  lecture  were  calculated  to  reawaken  all 
the  terrors  that  used  to  disturb  our  souls  at  Blois. 
The  nearer  my  wedding  day  approached,  the  more  I 
gathered  up  my  strength  and  will  and  all  my  feelings 
to  face  the  terrible  transition  from  girlhood  into 
womanhood.  All  our  talks  came  back  to  me.  I  read 
all  your  letters  over  again,  and  found  them  full  of  a 
sort  of  hidden  melancholy.  These  alarms  had  the 
good  effect  of  turning  me  into  the  ordinary  common- 
place fiancee  known  to  engravers  and  the  public.  And 
every  one  thought  me  charming  and  most  correct 
when  the  contract  was  signed.  This  morning  at  the 
Mairie,  whither  we  went  quite  quietly,  nobody  was 
present  but  the  necessary  witnesses.  I  am  finishing 
off  this  scrap  while  the  preparations  for  dressing  me 
for  dinner  are  being  made.  We  are  to  be  married  at 
the  Church  of  Ste.  Valere  at  twelve  o'clock  to-night, 
after  a  great  party  here.  My  terrors,  I  must  confess, 
have  given  me  a  victim-like  appearance  and  a  sham 

185 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

modest  air,  which  will  insure  me  an  admiration  I  do 
not  in  the  least  comprehend.  I  am  delighted  to  see 
my  poor  dear  Felipe  is  just  as  much  abashed  as  I  am. 
Society  is  hateful  to  him.  He  is  like  a  bat  in  a  glass- 
shop. 

"  Happily  this  day  will  have  a  morrow,"  he  whis- 
pered in  my  ear  just  now,  without  an  idea  he  was  say- 
ing anything  peculiar. 

So  shy  and  ashamed  of  himself  is  he,  that  he  would 
prefer  not  to  see  a  soul.  When  the  Sardinian  Ambas- 
sador came  to  sign  our  marriage  contract,  he  took  me 
aside  and  handed  me  a  pearl  necklace,  the  clasp  com- 
posed of  six  magnificent  diamonds.  It  was  a  present 
from  my  sister-in-law,  the  Duchesse  de  Soria.  With  the 
necklace  there  was  a  sapphire  bracelet,  within  which 
is  engraved  the  legend,  "  /  love  thee,  though  I  know 
thee  not"  Two  charming  letters  were  inclosed  with 
these  two  presents,  which  I  would  not  accept  until  I 
knew  I  had  Felipe's  permission.  "  For,"  said  I  to 
him,  "  I  should  not  like  to  see  you  wear  anything  I 
had  not  given  you." 

He  was  quite  moved,  and  kissed  my  hand,  say- 
ing: 

"  Wear  them  for  the  sake  of  the  motto  and  of  the 
affection  of  the  givers,  which  is  genuine." 

Saturday  Night. 

Here  then,  my  poor  Renee,  you  behold  the  last 
lines  this  maiden  will  ever  write  you.  After  the  mid- 
night mass  we  start  for  a  country-place  which  Felipe, 

186 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

with  the  most  delicate  consideration,  has  bought  in 
the  Nivernais,  on  the  road  to  Provence.  My  name  is 
Louise  de  Macumer  even  now,  but  I  shall  still  be 
Louise  de  Chaulieu  when  I  leave  Paris,  a  few  hours 
hence.  Well,  whatever  I  may  be  called,  I  shall  never 

be  anything  to  you  except 

LOUISE. 


187 


XXVII 

FROM   THE   SAME  TO   THE   SAME 

October,  1825. 

I  HAVE  never  written  you  a  line,  my  dearest,  since 
we  were  married  at  the  Mairie,  and  that  is  nearly  eight 
months  ago,  and  not  a  word  from  you  either.  This, 
madame,  is  too  bad! 

Well,  we  started  off  with  post-horses  for  Chante- 
pleurs,  the  country-place  Macumer  had  bought  in  the 
Nivernais,  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire,  some  sixty 
leagues  from  Paris.  Our  servants,  except  my  maid, 
had  gone  before  us  to  await  our  coming,  and  we  trav- 
elled very  rapidly,  arriving  the  following  evening.  I 
slept  all  the  way  from  Paris  to  the  other  side  of  Mon- 
targis.  The  only  freedom  my  lord  and  master  per- 
mitted himself  was  to  put  his  arm  around  my  waist 
and  make  me  rest  my  head  on  his  shoulder,  on  which 
he  had  laid  several  handkerchiefs.  This  almost  ma- 
ternal solicitude  on  his  part,  which  prevented  him  from 
going  to  sleep  himself,  filled  me  with  the  strangest 
and  deepest  emotion.  I  fell  asleep  under  the  blaze 
of  his  dark  eyes.  I  woke,  and  they  were  still  shining 
on  me  with  the  same  fervour,  the  same  love.  But 

1 88 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

what  thousands  of  thoughts  had  passed  through  his 
brain.    He  had  kissed  my  forehead  twice  over. 

We  breakfasted  in  our  carriage  at  Briare.  At  half 
past  seven  that  evening,  after  we  had  talked,  as  you 
and  I  have  talked  at  Blois,  and  admired  the  Loire  as 
you  and  I  used  to  admire  it  together,  we  passed  into 
the  long  and  splendid  avenue  of  lime,  acacia,  sycamore 
and  larch  trees,  that  leads  up  to  Chantepleurs.  At 
eight  o'clock  we  were  sitting  at  dinner.  At  ten  we 
were  in  a  charming  Gothic  chamber,  embellished  with 
everything  that  modern  luxury  can  invent.  My  Felipe, 
whom  every  one  else  thinks  ugly,  seemed  to  me  full 
of  a  great  beauty — the  beauty  of  goodness,  of  charm, 
of  tenderness,  of  the  most  exquisite  refinement.  Of 
passionate  desire  I  did  not  perceive  a  trace.  All 
through  our  journey  he  had  behaved  like  some  friend 
of  fifteen  years'  standing.  He  had  described,  as  he  so 
well  knows  how  to  do  it  (he  is  still  the  man  depicted 
in  his  first  letter),  the  frightful  tempests  he  had  curbed 
and  forced  to  die  away  on  his  face,  as  on  the  surface 
of  the  waters. 

"  There  is  nothing  very  terrifying  in  marriage  so 
far,"  said  I,  as  I  went  over  to  the  window  and  looked 
out  over  a  beautiful  park  bathed  in  the  loveliest  moon- 
light and  redolent  of  balmy  odours. 

He  came  close  to  me,  put  his  arm  about  me  again, 
and  said: 

"And  why  should  it  terrify  you?  Have  I  failed 
in  my  promises  even  by  one  look  or  gesture?  Shall  I 
ever  fail  in  them?  " 

189 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Never  did  look  or  tone  wield  so  mighty  a  power. 
His  voice  stirred  every  fibre  and  woke  every  feeling  in 
me.  His  glance  burnt  me  like  the  sun. 

"  Oh,"  I  cried,  "  what  Moorish  perfidy  lies  be- 
neath this  perpetual  slavery  of  yours?  M 

Dear,  he  understood  me.  Therefore,  my  darling, 
if  I  have  not  written  for  months,  you  will  guess  why, 
now.  I  am  forced  to  remind  myself  of  the  young  girl's 
strange  past,  so  that  I  may  explain  the  woman  to  you. 
Renee,  I  understand  you  now.  Neither  to  her  close 
friend,  nor  to  her  mother,  nor  perhaps  even  to  herself, 
can  a  happy  young  wife  speak  of  her  happy  marriage. 
That  memory  must  be  buried  within  her  soul,  yet  an- 
other of  those  feelings  which  are  hers  alone,  and  which 
can  never  be  described.  What!  the  exquisite  fool- 
eries of  the  heart,  the  overwhelming  impulses  of  pas- 
sionate desire,  have  been  dubbed  a  duty!  What 
monstrous  power  conceived  the  notion  of  forcing 
woman  to  trample  every  refinement  and  all  the  in- 
stinctive modesty  of  her  nature  under  foot,  by 
turning  these  delights  into  a  duty?  How  can 
these  blossoms  of  the  soul,  these  roses  of  exist- 
ence, these  poems  of  intense  feeling,  be  a  duty  owed 
to  a  being  she  does  not  love?  Rights!  and  in 
such  sensations!  Why,  they  sprout  and  blossom 
under  the  sun  of  love;  or  else  their  germs  are  killed 
by  the  chill  of  repugnance  and  aversion!  Love  alone 
can  wield  such  spells.  Ah,  my  noble  Renee,  you 
have  grown  very  great  in  my  eyes.  I  bend  the  knee 
before  you.  Your  penetration  and  clear-sighted- 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

ness  amaze  me.  Yes,  the  woman  who  does  not,  like 
me,  hide  some  secret  love  marriage  beneath  her  legal 
and  public  vows,  must  throw  herself  on  motherhood 
just  as  a  soul  that  has  lost  everything  in  this  life  casts 
itself  on  the  next.  One  merciless  fact  is  the  out- 
come of  everything  you  have  written  me — none  but 
superior  men  really  know  how  to  love.  I  know  why 
now.  Man  is  impelled  by  two  principles.  These  are 
desire  and  feeling.  Weak  or  inferior  natures  take  de- 
sire for  feeling;  whereas  in  superior  natures  the  effect 
of  their  exquisite  feeling  conceals  desire.  This  feel- 
ing, by  its  excessive  strength,  inspires  them  with 
extreme  reserve  and,  at  the  same  time,  with  an  adora- 
tion for  the  woman.  A  man's  power  of  feeling  natu- 
rally coincides  with  the  strength  of  his  mental  organi- 
zation, and  thus  the  man  of  genius  is  the  only  man 
whose  delicacy  can  approximate  to  ours.  He  knows, 
divines,  understands  the  woman's  nature.  He  bears 
her  on  the  wings  of  a  passion  chastened  by  the  reti- 
cence of  his  own  feeling.  And  when  we  are  swept 
away  by  the  simultaneous  intoxication  of  mind,  heart 
and  senses,  we  do  not  fall  down  to  earth;  we  rise  to 
the  celestial  spheres,  and,  unhappily,  we  have  to  leave 
them  all  too  soon.  Here,  my  dear  soul,  you  have 
the  philosophy  extracted  from  my  first  three  months 
of  married  life.  Felipe  is  an  angel.  I  can  think  aloud 
in  his  presence.  Rhetoric  apart,  he  is  my  second  self. 
His  noble-heartedness  is  something  singular.  Pos- 
session makes  him  cling  still  closer  to  me.  In  his  very 
happiness  he  finds  fresh  cause  to  love  me.  To  him 

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I  am  the  fairest  part  of  his  own  being.  I  can  see 
plainly  that,  far  from  revealing  any  deterioration  in 
the  object  of  his  delight,  the  lapse  of  our  married  years 
will  only  increase  his  trust,  evoke  fresh  feeling,  and 
strengthen  the  bond  between  us.  What  a  blessed 
frenzy!  I  am  so  constituted  that  happiness  leaves  a 
bright  glow  within  me — it  warms  my  soul,  it  saturates 
my  inner  being.  The  intervals  between  each  delight 
are  like  the  short  nights  between  summer  days.  The 
sun  that  gilded  the  heights  as  it  sank  to  rest  finds 
them  scarce  cooled  when  it  rises  in  the  sky  once  more. 
By  what  fortunate  chance  did  this  come  to  me  from 
the  very  outset?  My  mother  had  stirred  a  thousand 
fears  within  me.  Her  forecasts — which  struck  me  as 
being  full  of  jealousy,  though  quite  free  from  the 
slightest  pettiness — have  been  falsified  by  the  event; 
for  your  alarms  and  hers  and  mine  have  all  been  scat- 
tered to  the  winds. 

We  spent  seven  and  a  half  months  at  Chantepleurs, 
like  a  pair  of  runaway  lovers  who  were  fleeing  from 
their  parents'  wrath.  Our  love  has  been  crowned  with 
flowers  of  delight,  and  all  our  mutual  existence  is 
decked  with  them.  One  morning  when  I  was  particu- 
larly happy,  ray  thought,  by  a  sudden  revulsion,  flew 
to  my  Renee  and  her  prudent  marriage.  And  then  I 
divined  the  nature  of  your  life  and  fathomed  it.  Oh, 
dearest  angel,  why  do  we  speak  a  different  tongue? 
Your  purely  social  marriage,  and  mine,  which  is  noth- 
ing but  a  happy  passion,  are  no  more  intelligible  to 
each  other  than  the  infinite  is  to  the  finite.  You  are 

192 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

down  on  the  earth;  I  am  in  heaven.  You  are  in  the 
human  sphere;  I  in  the  divine.  I  rule  by  love;  you 
rule  by  forethought  and  duty.  I  soar  so  high  that  if 
I  were  to  fall  I  should  be  shivered  into  atoms.  But  I 
must  hold  my  peace,  for  I  should  be  ashamed  to  tell 
you  of  all  the  brightness,  the  wealth,  the  ever-fresh 
delights  of  such  a  springtide  of  love  as  mine. 

We  have  been  in  Paris  for  the  last  ten  days,  in  a 
charming  house  in  the  Rue  du  Bac,  remodelled  by 
the  architect  whom  Felipe  employed  to  remodel 
Chantepleurs.  I  have  just  been  hearing  that  heavenly 
music  of  Rossini's,  to  which  I  listened  some  months 
since  with  disquiet  in  my  soul — vexed,  although  I 
knew  it  not,  by  the  curiosity  that  love  brings  in  its 
train.  Now  it  is  gladdened  by  the  lawful  joys  of  a 
happy  marriage.  Every  one  thinks  I  have  improved 
in  looks,  and  I  take  a  childish  pleasure  in  hearing 
myself  called  Madame. 

Renee,  my  sweet  saint,  my  own  happiness  brings 
my  thought  back  perpetually  to  you.  I  feel  I  care 
for  you  more  than  I  ever  did.  I  am  so  devoted  to  you. 
I  have  studied  your  conjugal  existence  so  deeply  by 
the  light  of  the  beginning  of  my  own,  and  I  see  you  to 
be  so  great,  so  noble,  so  sublimely  virtuous,  that  I 
hereby  declare  myself  not  your  friend  only,  but  your 
inferior,  your  sincere  admirer.  Looking  at  what  my 
own  marriage  is,  it  is  almost  clear  to  me  that  I  should 
have  died  if  it  had  been  otherwise.  And  yet  you  live! 
On  what  feeling?  Tell  me  that?  And,  indeed,  I  will 
not  say  one  jesting  word  to  you.  Derision,  my  dearest, 

193 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

is  the  daughter  of  ignorance.  People  make  a  jest  of 
,that  which  they  do  not  understand.  "  When  the  re- 
cruits begin  to  laugh,  tried  soldiers  look  grave,"  said 
the  Comte  de  Chaulieu  to  me — he,  a  mere  cavalry 
captain,  who  had  never  travelled  farther  than  from 
Paris  to  Fontainebleau,and  back  again  from  Fontaine- 
bleau  to  Paris.  And  I  have  guessed  too,  my  dear  love, 
that  you  have  not  told  me  everything.  Yes,  you 
have  hidden  some  wounds  from  me.  You  suffer;  I  can 
feel  it.  I  have  dreamed  whole  novels  about  you,  far 
from  you  as  I  am,  and  with  nothing  to  go  on  but 
the  little  you  have  told  me  about  yourself,  to  discover 
the  reasons  of  your  conduct. 

"  She  has  given  wedded  life  a  trial,"  thought  I 
one  evening,  "  and  that  which  has  been  bliss  to  me 
has  been  nothing  but  a  misery  to  her.  She  has  gained 
nothing  by  the  sacrifices  she  has  made,  and  she  would 
fain  limit  their  number.  She  has  cloaked  her  sorrow 
under  the  pompous  axioms  of  social  morality."  Ah, 
Renee,  one  admirable  thing  about  enjoyment  is  that 
it  needs  neither  religion,  nor  fuss,  nor  fine  words.  It 
is  everything  in  itself.  Whereas  men,  to  justify  the 
vile  ingenuity  which  has  compassed  our  slavery  and 
vassalage,  have  heaped  up  theories  and  maxims.  If 
your  self-immolation  is  noble  and  sublime,  can  my 
bliss,  sheltered  by  the  white  and  gold  canopy  of  Mother 
Church,  and  signed  with  due  flourish  by  the  grumpiest 
of  Mayors,  be  a  monstrosity?  For  the  honour  of  the 
law,  for  your  own  sake — but,  above  all,  to  complete 
my  own  happiness — I  would  have  you  happy, 

194 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Renee.  Oh,  tell  me  you  feel  a  little  love  creeping 
into  your  heart  for  the  Louis  who  worships  you!  Tell 
me  that  Hymen's  solemn  and  symbolic  torch  has 
served  to  do  something  more  than  reveal  the  darkness 
about  you.  For  love,  my  darling,  is  to  our  moral 
being  just  exactly  what  the  sun  is  to  the  earth.  I 
can  not  help  reverting  to  the  blaze  that  shines  on 
me,  and  that  will  end,  I  fear,  by  burning  me  quite 
up.  Dear  Renee,  you  who  in  the  ecstasy  of  your 
friendship  would  say  to  me  under  the  vine  arbour  at 
the  convent,  "  I  love  you  so  dearly,  Louise,  that  if 
God  were  to  make  himself  manifest  to  me  I  would  ask 
him  to  give  me  all  the  sorrows  of  life  and  you  all 
its  joys.  Yes,  I  have  a  passionate  longing  to  suffer." 
Well,  my  darling,  I  feel  like  that  for  you  now,  and  I 
implore  the  Almighty  to  bestow  half  my  joys  on  you. 

Listen  to  me!  I  have  guessed  that  under  the 
name  of  Louis  de  1'Estorade  you  hide  an  ambitious 
woman.  So  see  he  is  elected  Deputy  at  the  next 
elections.  He  will  be  nearly  forty  then,  and  as  the 
House  will  not  meet  till  six  months  after  that,  he 
will  be  just  the  right  age  for  a  political  man.  Come 
to  Paris,  and  you  will  see. 

My  father  and  the  friends  I  shall  make  for  myself 
will  recognise  your  value,  and  if  your  old  father-in-law 
chooses  to  entail  his  estate,  we'll  get  Louis  created  a 
Count.  That  will  be  something  gained;  and  then, 
besides,  we  shall  be  together! 


195 


XXVIII 

REN£E  DE  L'ESTORADE  TO  LOUISE  DE  MACUMER 

December,  1823. 

MY  BLISSFUL  LOUISE:  You  have  made  me  dizzy. 
I  have  been  sitting  here  for  a  moment  alone  on  a 
bench  at  the  foot  of  a  small  bare  rock,  my  arms  drop- 
ping wearily  down,  holding  your  letter,  on  which  a 
few  tears  have  lain  glistening  in  the  setting  sun.  In 
the  distance  the  Mediterranean  glitters  like  a  steel 
sword-blade.  Two  or  three  sweet-scented  trees 
shadow  the  seat,  about  which  I  have  planted  a  huge 
jasmine  bush,  some  honeysuckles,  and  Spanish  broom. 
Some  of  these  days  the  boulder  will  be  all  covered 
with  climbing  plants.  There  is  Virginia  creeper 
on  it  already.  But  winter  is  upon  us,  and  all  the 
greenery  has  grown  like  a  shabby  hanging.  When  I 
am  sitting  here  nobody  ever  comes  near  me,  for  every 
one  knows  I  want  to  be  alone.  The  bench  goes  by 
the  name  of  "  Louise's  seat."  Does  not  that  tell  you 
that  even  when  I  am  here  alone,  I  am  not  alone? 

When  I  tell  you  all  these  details,  which  will  seem 
so  trivial  to  you,  when  I  describe  the  verdant  hope 
that  already  clothes  this  bare  steep  rock,  which  some 
whim  of  Nature  has  crowned  with  a  splendid  urn- 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

brella  pine,  I  do  it  because  here  thoughts  and  ideas 
have  come  to  me,  to  which  I  cling. 

Even  as  I  rejoiced  in  your  happy  wedlock,  and 
(why  should  I  not  acknowledge  all  the  truth  to  you?) 
even  as  I  envied  it  with  all  my  might,  I  felt  within  me 
the  first  stirrings  of  my  unborn  child,  and  that  throb 
in  the  depths  of  my  physical  existence  straightway 
found  its  answer  in  my  inmost  soul.  This  obscure 
sensation — a  premonition,  a  delight,  a  pain,  a  promise, 
a  reality,  all  in  one — this  happiness  which  belongs  to 
me  alone  in  all  the  world  and  lies  a  secret  betwixt  me 
and  God — this  strange  mystery,  told  me  that  my 
rock  should  some  day  be  carpeted  with  flowers,  that 
the  joyous  laughter  of  children  should  ring  about  it, 
that  my  womb  was  blessed  at  last,  and  that  I  was  des- 
tined to  bring  forth  life  in  full  measure.  I  knew  then 
that  I  was  born  for  motherhood,  and  this  first  cer- 
tainty that  I  bore  another  life  within  my  own  brought 
a  most  blessed  consolation  to  me.  An  infinite  joy  had 
crowned  all  the  long  days  of  sacrifice  which  have  al- 
ready made  Louis  so  happy. 

"  Sacrifice,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  art  thou  not  great- 
er than  love?  Art  thou  not  the  deepest  bliss  of  all, 
because  thou  art  an  abstract,  a  life-giving  bliss?  Art 
thou  not,  O  Sacrifice!  that  creative  power  far  greater 
and  higher  than  its  own  effects?  Art  thou  not  the 
mysterious,  untiring  divinity  hidden  behind  all  the 
innumerable  spheres,  in  some  undiscovered  spot 
through  which  each  world  must  pass  in  turn?  Sacri- 
fice! alone  with  its  secret  full  of  silent  joys  which  none 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

suspect,  and  on  which  no  profane  eye  ever  rests. 
Sacrifice!  that  jealous  and  overwhelming,  that  mighty 
and  victorious  deity — exhaustless  because  he  is  bound 
up  with  the  very  nature  of  things,  and  therefore  im- 
mutable in  spite  of  all  the  outpourings  of  his  strength. 
Sacrifice!  that  is  the  watchword  of  my  life." 

Your  love,  Louise,  is  the  result  of  Felipe's  effort 
upon  you.  But  the  radiance  I  cast  over  this  family 
will  be  perpetually  reflected  back  from  my  little  circle 
upon  me.  Your  fair,  golden  harvest  is  short-lived. 
But  will  not  mine  be  all  the  more  enduring  because  it 
has  ripened  late?  It  will  be  constantly  renewed. 
Love  is  the  daintiest  theft  Society  has  ever  contrived 
to  practise  upon  Nature.  But  is  not  maternity  Na- 
ture's own  joy?  My  tears  change  to  a  smile  of  happi- 
ness. Love  makes  my  Louis  a  happy  man.  But  mar- 
riage has  brought  me  motherhood,  and  I  am  deter- 
mined to  be  happy  too.  Then  I  came  slowly  back  to 
my  green-shuttered  house  to  write  this  letter  to  you. 

So,  my  dearest,  the  most  natural  and  the  most  sur- 
prising event  in  a  woman's  life  took  place  in  mine  five 
months  ago.  But  I  may  tell  you,  in  an  undertone, 
that  neither  my  heart  nor  my  intellect  have  been  one 
whit  stirred  thereby.  I  see  all  those  about  me  are  de- 
lighted. The  future  grandfather  encroaches  on  his 
grandson's  rights — he  has  grown  like  a  child  himself. 
The  father  assumes  a  serious  and  anxious  air.  They 
all  overwhelm  me  with  attentions,  and  they  all  talk 
about  the  bliss  of  being  a  mother.  Alack!  I  alone 
feel  nothing  at  all,  and  dare  not  betray  the  state  cl 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

utter  indifference  in  which  I  am.  I  am  constrained 
to  fib  a  little  so  as  not  to  sadden  their  joy.  As  with 
you  I  can  be  perfectly  frank,  I  will  confess  that,  as  far 
as  I  have  gone,  my  maternity  has  no  existence,  except 
in  my  imagination. 

The  news  of  my  condition  was  as  great  a  surprise 
to  Louis  as  it  was  to  me.  Is  that  not  enough  to 
show  you  the  child  came  of  its  own  accord,  on  no 
other  summons  than  its  father's  impatient  and  eagerly 
expressed  desire?  Chance,  my  dear  soul,  is  the  God 
of  maternity.  Although,  so  our  doctor  declares, 
these  same  chances  harmonize  with  the  will  of  Nature, 
he  does  not  attempt  to  deny  that  the  children  so  ap- 
propriately described  as  "  love-children  "  probably 
turn  out  both  beautiful  and  clever,  and  that  their  lives 
often  seem  sheltered,  as  it  were,  by  the  happiness 
which  shone  like  a  beaming  star  over  the  moment  of 
their  conception.  So  it  may  be,  my  Louise,  that 
motherhood  will  bring  you  delights  which  I  shall 
never  know.  Perhaps  a  woman  loves  the  child  of  a 
man  she  adores,  as  you  adore  your  Felipe,  better  than 
she  can  love  the  child  of  a  husband  whom  she  has 
married  in  cold  blood,  to  whom  she  gives  herself  as 
a  duty  and  for  the  sake,  in  fact,  of  reaching  woman's 
full  estate.  These  thoughts,  which  I  keep  in  the  bot- 
tom of  my  heart,  increase  the  seriousness  with  which 
I  look  forward  to  becoming  a  mother.  But,  as  there 
can  be  no  family  unless  there  are  children,  I  long  to 
hasten  the  time  when  those  family  joys,  which  are 
to  be  my  whole  existence,  shall  begin  for  me.  At 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

the  present  moment  my  life  is  one  of  mystery  and 
expectation,  the  nauseating  discomfort  of  which  no 
doubt  prepares  a  woman  to  endure  still  greater  suf- 
fering. I  watch  myself.  In  spite  of  all  Louis's  ef- 
forts— his  love  showers  care,  and  gentleness,  and  af- 
fection, on  me — I  have  some  dim  alarms  with  which 
are  mingled  the  distaste,  the  uneasiness,  the  strange 
fancies,  peculiar  to  my  condition.  If  I  am  to  tell 
you  the  things  just  as  they  are,  and  risk  inspiring 
you  with  some  aversion  for  my  present  employment, 
I  will  confide  to  you  that  I  have  the  most  inexpli- 
cable fancy  for  a  certain  sort  of  orange — an  eccen- 
tric taste,  which  nevertheless  comes  quite  naturally 
to  me.  My  husband  goes  over  to  Marseilles  to  pro- 
cure me  the  finest  oranges  to  be  had.  He  has  had 
them  sent  from  Malta,  from  Portugal,  from  Corsica. 
But  all  those  oranges  I  leave  untouched.  I  hurry 
off  to  Marseilles,  sometimes  I  even  walk  there,  and 
there  I  devour  vile,  half-rotten  things  that  are  sold 
four  for  a  sou,  in  a  little  street  running  down  to  the 
port,  close  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  The  blue  and  green 
mould  upon  these  oranges  shines  like  diamonds  to 
my  eyes.  They  are  like  flowers  to  me.  I  remember 
nothing  of  their  deathly  odour,  and  only  feel  that  their 
flavour  excites  my  palate,  that  their  warmth  is  wine- 
like,  and  their  taste  delicious.  Well,  dear  soul,  there 
you  have  the  first  amorous  sensation  I  have  known. 
Those  disgusting  oranges  are  my  joy.  You  do  not 
long  for  Felipe  more  than  I  long  for  that  rotten  fruit. 
I  even  slip  out  on  the  sly,  I  tear  off,  with  active  step, 

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The  Memoirs  of   Two  Young  Brides 

to  Marseilles.  I  shiver  with  voluptuous  expectation 
as  I  approach  the  street.  I  am  in  terror  lest  there 
should  be  no  more  over-ripe  oranges  in  the  shop.  I 
fly  at  them,  I  eat  them  up,  I  devour  them  in  the  open 
street.  To  me  they  are  fruits  grown  in  Paradise,  and 
their  pulp  the  most  exquisite  of  all  foods.  I  have  seen 
Louis  turn  his  head  away  to  avoid  the  stench  they 
exhale.  I  have  recalled  Obermann's  terrible  saying 
in  that  dreary  elegy  which  I  am  sorry  I  ever  read, 
"  Les  ratines  s'abreuvent  dans  une  eau  fetide"  "  The 
roots  quench  their  thirst  in  a  fetid  pool."  Since  I 
have  begun  to  eat  these  oranges  the  nausea  from 
which  I  suffered  has  disappeared  and  my  health  is 
quite  restored.  These  depraved  longings  must  have 
some  meaning,  since  they  are  a  natural  symptom,  and 
quite  half  of  the  sex  is  subject  to  such  fancies,  some 
of  them  really  monstrous.  When  my  condition  be- 
comes very  apparent,  I  shall  never  go  outside  this 
place.  I  should  not  like  any  one  to  see  me  under  such 
circumstances. 

I  am  longing  eagerly  to  know  at  what  moment  of 
one's  life  maternity  begins.  It  can  hardly  be  in  the 
midst  of  the  frightful  suffering  I  so  greatly  dread. 

Farewell,  my  happy  creature!  Farewell,  friend, 
in  whom  I  live  again  and  in  whose  person  I  am  able 
to  conceive  those  exquisite  delights,  that  jealousy 
over  a  single  look,  those  whispered  words,  and  all 
those  joys  that  wrap  us  round  as  though  in  a  different 
atmosphere,  a  different  state  of  being,  a  different 
light,  a  different  life.  Ah,  pretty  one,  I  know  what 

2OI 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

love  is  too.  Never  tire  of  telling  me  everything. 
Let  us  keep  our  agreement  faithfully.  I  will  spare 
you  nothing.  And,  to  close  this  letter  seriously,  I 
will  tell  you  that  as  I  read  yours  over  again,  a  deep 
and  unconquerable  terror  fell  on  me.  It  seemed  to 
me  as  though  this  insolent  love  of  yours  were  setting 
God  at  defiance.  If  sorrow,  that  sovereign  lord  of 
the  whole  earth,  finds  no  place  at  your  festive  board, 
will  not  his  rage  be  stirred  against  you?  Show  me 
the  glorious  fortune  he  has  not  overthrown?  Ah, 
Louise,  don't  forget  your  prayers  in  the  midst  of  all 
your  happiness.  Do  good  to  others,  be  kind  and  char- 
itable. Let  your  modesty  ward  off  adversity  from  you. 
Since  my  marriage  I  have  grown  even  more  religious 
than  I  was  in  the  convent.  You  tell  me  nothing 
about  religion  in  your  Paris  letters.  It  strikes  me  that 
in  your  worship  of  Felipe  you  look  (contrary  to  the 
proverb)  more  to  the  saint  than  to  God  himself.  But 
these  terrors  of  mine  spring  from  my  too  great  love. 
You  do  go  to  church  together,  don't  you?  And  you 
do  good  by  stealth?  You'll  think  this  last  bit  of  my 
letter  very  countrified,  perhaps.  But  consider  that 
my  fears  are  dictated  by  my  extreme  affection — an 
affection,  as  La  Fontaine  understood  the  feeling,  that 
grows  uneasy  and  takes  fright  over  a  dream,  an  idea 
that  is  no  more  than  a  shadow.  You  deserve  to  be 
happy,  seeing  that  in  the  midst  of  all  your  happiness 
you  think  of  me,  just  as  in  my  monotonous  existence 
— a  trifle  dull,  but  full  enough;  sober,  but  fruitful— 
I  think  of  you.  All  blessings  go  with  you,  then  I 

202 


XXIX 
M.  DE  L'ESTORADE  TO  THE  BARONNE  DE  MACUMER 

December,  1825. 

MADAME:  My  wife  is  anxious  you  should  not 
be  informed  of  the  joyful  event  which  has  just 
occurred  through  the  commonplace  medium  of  a 
formal  announcement.  She  has  just  been  confined  of 
a  fine  boy,  and  we  shall  defer  his  christening  until 
the  period  of  your  return  to  your  country-house  at 
Chantepleurs.  We  are  in  hopes,  Renee  and  I,  that 
you  will  push  on  as  far  as  La  Crampade,  and  stand 
godmother  to  our  first-born  SOM.  In  this  hope  I  have 
registered  the  child  under  the  names  of  Armand  Louis 
de  TEstorade.  Our  dear  Renee  has  suffered  horribly, 
but  with  the  patience  of  an  angel — you  know  her  na- 
ture. She  has  been  supported  through  this  first  ma- 
ternal trial  by  the  certainty  that  she  was  conferring 
happiness  on  us  all.  Without  indulging  in  the  some- 
what absurd  exaggeration  of  a  father  who  enjoys  his 
paternal  dignity  for  the  first  time,  I  may  assure  you 
that  little  Armand  is  a  splendid  fellow;  but  you  will 
have  no  difficulty  in  believing  that,  when  I  tell  you  he 
has  Renee's  face  and  Renee's  eyes.  This  proves  his 
sense  already.  Now  that  the  doctor  and  the  accoucheur. 

203 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

have  both  assured  us  that  Renee  is  not  in  the  slightest 
danger — for  she  is  nursing  the  child,  he  thrives  apace, 
and  his  mother's  vigorous  nature  insures  a  liberal  sup- 
ply of  nourishment — we  are  free,  my  father  and  I,  to 
luxuriate  in  our  happiness.  So  great  is  our  joy, 
madame,  so  deep,  so  full,  it  has  so  stirred  our  house- 
hold, it  has  so  altered  my  dear  wife's  existence,  that, 
for  your  own  sake,  I  wish  you  may  soon  be  in  her 
case.  Renee  has  prepared  a  set  of  rooms  which  I  wish 
I  could  make  worthy  of  our  guest.  You  would  be 
welcome  to  them  with  fraternal  cordiality,  at  all 
events,  though  splendour  may  be  lacking. 

Renee  has  told  me,  madame,  of  your  intentions 
with  regard  to  us,  and  I  seize  this  occasion  of  thank- 
ing you  for  them,  all  the  more  eagerly  because  nothing 
could  be  more  seasonable.  The  birth  of  my  boy  has 
reconciled  my  father  to  sacrifices  such  as  an  old  man  is 
somewhat  loath  to  face.  He  has  just  bought  two 
properties.  La  Crampade  will  now  bring  in  some 
thirty  thousand  francs  a  year.  My  father  is  about  to 
solicit  the  King's  permission  to  entail  this  estate,  but 
if  you  obtain  him  the  title  you  mentioned  in  your  last 
letter,  you  will  already  have  done  something  for  your 
godson. 

As  for  myself,  I  will  follow  your  advice  with  the 
sole  object  of  enabling  you  and  Renee  to  be  together 
during  the  Parliamentary  session.  I  am  studying 
hard,  and  endeavouring  to  become  what  is  known  as 
"  a  specialist."  But  nothing  will  give  me  more  cour- 
age than  to  know  that  you  will  protect  my  little 

204 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Armand.  So  give  us  your  promise,  pray,  that  you  will 
come,  in  all  your  beauty  and  your  grace,  your  grand- 
eur and  your  wit,  to  play  the  part  of  fairy  godmother 
to  my  eldest  boy.  Thus,  madame,  you  will  add  eternal 
gratitude  to  those  feelings  of  respectful  affection  with 
which  I  have  the  honour  to  remain,  your  very  humble 
and  obedient  servant, 

Louis  DE  L'ESTORADB* 


XXX 

FROM  LOUISE  DE  MACUMER  TO  RENE"E  DE  I/ESTORADB 

January,  1826. 

MACUMER  woke  me  up  just  now,  and  brought  me 
your  husband's  letter,  my  dear  love.  The  first  thing  I 
say  shall  be  "  yes."  We  shall  be  going  to  Chante- 
pleurs  toward  the  end  of  April.  To  me  it  will  be 
pleasure  heaped  on  pleasure  to  travel  to  see  you,  and 
to  stand  godmother  to  your  first  child.  Only  I  must 
have  Macumer  for  the  godfather.  A  Catholic  alliance 
with  any  other  sponsor  would  be  hateful  to  me.  Ah, 
if  you  could  have  seen  the  expression  on  his  face  when 
I  told  him  that,  you  would  know  how  deeply  the 
darling  loves  me. 

"  I  am  all  the  more  anxious  that  we  should  go 
to  La  Crampade  together,  Felipe,"  said  I,  "  because 
perhaps  a  child  will  come  to  us  there.  I  want  to  be 
a  mother,  too,  .  .  .  although,  indeed,  I  should  be 
sorely  divided  between  a  child  and  you.  To  begin 
with,  if  I  were  to  see  you  prefer  any  creature,  even 
my  own  son,  to  me,  I  don't  know  what  would  happen! 
Medea  may  have  been  right  after  all,  the  ancients  had 
their  good  points." 

He  burst  out  laughing.  So,  dear  soul,  you  have 
206 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

the  fruit  without  having  had  the  flowers,  and  I  have 
the  flowers  without  the  fruit.  The  contrast  between 
our  fates  is  still  kept  up.  There  is  enough  philosophy 
in  us  to  make  us  cast  about,  one  of  these  days,  for  the 
meaning  and  moral  of  it  all.  Pshaw !  I  have  only  been 
married  ten  months;  you  must  admit  there's  not  much 
time  lost  as  yet. 

We  are  living  the  life — dissipated,  and  yet  full — of 
a  happy  couple.  Our  days  always  seem  to  us  much 
too  short.  Society,  to  which  I  have  returned  in  the 
garb  of  a  married  woman,  admires  the  Baronne  de 
Macumer  more  than  it  admired  Louise  de  Chaulieu. 
A  happy  love  imparts  a  beauty  of  its  own.  As  we 
drive  together,  Felipe  and  I,  on  one  of  these  sunny, 
frosty  January  days,  when  the  trees  of  the  Champs- 
Elysees  are  laden  with  white  starry  clusters — united 
now,  in  the  face  of  all  Paris,  on  the  very  spot  where  we 
were  parted  only  a  year  ago — thoughts  crowd  on  me 
in  thousands,  and  I  am  afraid  lest,  as  you  foresaw 
in  your  last  letter,  my  insolence  may  grow  too  great. 

If  I  know  nothing  of  the  joys  of  maternity,  you 
shall  describe  them  to  me,  and  through  you  I  will  be 
a  mother,  too— but,  to  my  thinking,  nothing  can  be 
compared  to  the  delights  of  love.  You'll  think  me 
very  odd,  but  ten  times  certainly  in  the  last  ten 
months  I  have  caught  myself  wishing  I  might  die 
when  I  was  thirty,  in  all  the  glory  of  my  life,  crowned 
with  the  blossoms  of  love  and  lapped  in  its  delights; 
to  go  my  way,  satisfied,  without  a  shadow  of  disap- 
pointment, having  lived  in  the  sunshine,  in  the  blue 

207 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

ether,  even  to  die,  in  part,  perhaps,  of  love,  my  gar- 
land intact,  even  to  every  leaf,  and  all  my  illusions 
with  me  still.  Just  think  what  it  must  be  to  have  a 
young  heart  in  an  old  body;  to  meet  dull,  cold  faces 
where  every  one,  even  those  for  whom  we  cared  not, 
used  to  smile  upon  us;  to  be,  in  fact,  a  venerable 
woman — oh,  that  must  be  hell  on  earth! 

We  have  had  our  first  quarrel  on  this  very  sub- 
ject, Felipe  and  I.  I  wanted  him  to  have  courage, 
when  I  was  thirty,  to  kill  me  in  my  sleep,  without  my 
knowing  it,  so  that  I  might  pass  out  of  one  dream  into 
another.  The  wretch  wouldn't  do  it!  I  threatened 
to  leave  him  alone  in  the  world,  and  he  turned  white, 
poor  boy!  This  mighty  Minister  has  become  a  reg- 
ular baby,  my  dear  soul.  You  would  never  believe 
how  much  youth  and  simplicity  have  lain  hidden  in 
his  heart.  Now  that  I  think  aloud  with  him,  just  as  I 
do  with  you,  and  have  taken  him  thoroughly  into  my 
confidence,  we  are  full  of  admiration  for  each  other. 

My  dear,  the  two  lovers,  Felipe  and  Louise,  are 
anxious  to  send  a  present  to  the  young  mother.  We 
should  like  to  send  something  that  would  please  you, 
so  tell  me  frankly  what  you  want,  for  we  don't  at  all 
cling  to  the  ordinary  system  of  giving  a  surprise. 

What  we  should  like  is  to  send  you  something 
which  may  recall  us  to  you  constantly  by  a  pleasant 
memory,  and  by  something  for  daily  use,  and  which 
will  not  easily  wear  out.  Our  cheeriest,  most  fa- 
miliar, most  lively  meal,  because  it  is  that  at  which 
we  are  always  alone,  is  our  breakfast.  I  have  there- 

208 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

fore  planned  to  send  you  a  special  service  called  a 
breakfast  service,  which  shall  be  ornamented  with 
figures  of  children.  If  you  approve  of  my  idea,  answer 
me  quickly.  For  if  I  am  to  bring  it  to  you,  I  must 
order  it,  and  these  Paris  artists  are  so  many  "Rois 
faineants."  This  shall  be  my  offering  to  Lucina. 

Farewell,  dear  nursing  mother!  I  wish  you  all 
maternal  happiness,  and  I  wait  longingly  for  your  first 
letter,  which  will  tell  me  everything,  will  it  not?  That 
"  accoucheur  "  made  me  shudder — the  very  word  in 
your  husband's  letter,  struck,  not  my  eyes,  but  my 
heart.  Poor  Renee,  a  child  costs  a  heavy  price, 
doesn't  it?  I'll  tell  that  godson  of  mine  how  much  he 
ought  to  love  you. 

A  thousand  tender  loves,  my  dear  one  I 


209 


XXXI 

FROM  RENEE  DE  L'ESTORADE  TO  LOUISE  DE  MACUMEK 

IT  is  almost  three  months  now  since  my  child  was 
born,  and  I  have  never  been  able  to  find  a  single  tiny 
moment  to  write  to  you,  my  dear  soul.  When  you 
have  a  child  of  your  own  you  will  forgive  me  this,  even 
more  freely  than  you  do  at  present — for  you  have 
punished  me  a  little  by  sending  me  so  few  letters. 
Write  to  me,  my  dear  love.  Tell  me  about  all  your 
gaieties,  paint  your  happiness  to  me  in  the  brightest 
hues;  don't  spare  the  ultramarine  for  fear  of  distress- 
ing me,  for  I,  too,  am  happy — happier  than  you  would 
ever  imagine. 

I  went  in  great  state,  according  to  the  custom  of 
our  old  Provencal  families,  to  return  thanks  for  my 
safe  delivery  at  the  parish  church.  The  two  grand- 
fathers, Louis's  father  and  my  own,  supported  me  on 
either  side.  Ah,  never  did  I  bend  the  knee  before 
God  in  such  a  passion  of  gratitude.  There  are  so 
many  things  for  me  to  tell  you,  so  many  feelings  to 
describe,  that  I  know  not  where  to  begin.  But  out  of 
the  midst  of  the  confusion  one  radiant  memory  rises, 
the  thought  of  the  prayer  I  offered  in  that  church. 

2IO 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

When  I  felt  myself  transformed  into  a  rejoicing 
mother,  on  the  very  spot  where  as  a  girl  I  had  doubted 
of  life  and  of  my  future,  I  fancied  I  saw  the  Virgin 
on  the  altar  bowing  her  head  to  me  and  showing  me 
the  Divine  Child,  who  seemed  to  smile  upon  me. 
What  a  blessed  overflowing  of  heavenly  love  I  felt 
as  I  held  out  our  little  Armand  to  receive  the  bene- 
diction of  the  priest,  who  touched  him  with  the 
chrism,  until  he  can  be  fully  baptized! 

But  you  will  see  us  together,  my  Armand  and  me. 

My  child — why  now  I've  called  you  my  child! — 
but  indeed  it  is  the  sweetest  word  that  ever  rises  to 
a  mother's  heart,  and  mind,  and  lips — well  then,  dear 
child,  I  dragged  myself  about  our  garden,  wearily 
enough  all  through  those  last  two  months,  weighed 
down  by  the  discomfort  of  my  burden.  I  did  not  know 
how  dear  and  tender  it  was,  in  spite  of  all  the  misery 
it  was  costing  me.  I  felt  such  terrors,  such  deadly 
presentiments,  that  no  amount  of  curiosity  could 
overcome  them.  I  reasoned  with  myself,  told  myself 
there  was  nothing  to  dread  in  any  natural  event — I 
promised  myself  the  joys  of  motherhood.  But  alas! 
I  felt  no  stir  at  my  heart,  even  when  I  thought  of  the 
child,  which  stirred  so  briskly  within  me;  and,  my 
dear,  that  kind  of  stir  may  be  pleasant  to  a  woman 
who  has  already  borne  children,  but  in  the  first  in- 
stance the  griever  of  an  unseen  life  brings  one  more 
astonishment  than  satisfaction.  I  give  you  my  own 
experience,  you  know  me  to  be  neither  insincere  nor 
theatrical,  and  my  child  was  more  the  gift  of  God — for 

211 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

it  is  God  who  sends  us  children — than  that  of  a  beloved 
husband.  Let  us  bid  farewell  to  these  bygone  sor- 
rows, which,  as  I  think,  I  shall  never  know  again. 

When  the  awful  moment  came  upon  me  I  had 
gathered  up  such  powers  of  endurance  and  I  had  ex- 
pected such  cruel  anguish  that,  so  I  am  told,  I  bore 
the  hideous  torture  in  the  most  astounding  fashion. 
For  about  an  hour,  dear  love,  I  was  sunk  in  a  con- 
dition of  prostration  which  was  something  like  a 
dream.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  two  persons.  An  outer 
husk,  torn,  tortured,  agonized;  and  an  inner  soul  that 
was  all  calm  and  peace.  While  I  was  in  that  strange 
condition  my  sufferings  seemed  to  blossom  like  a 
crown  of  flowers  above  my  head.  It  was  as  though 
a  huge  rose  that  sprang  upward  out  of  my  skull  grew 
larger  and  larger,  and  wrapped  me  all  about.  The  rosy 
colour  of  the  blood-stained  blossom  was  in  the  very 
air,  and  everything  was  red  to  me.  Then,  when  I 
had  reached  a  point  at  which  body  and  soul  seemed 
ready  to  part  company,  I  felt  a  pang  that  made  me 
think  I  was  going  to  die  that  instant.  I  screamed 
aloud,  and  then  I  found  fresh  strength  to  bear  fresh 
pains.  Suddenly  the  hideous  concert  was  hushed 
within  me  by  the  delicious  sound  of  the  little  crea- 
ture's shrill  wail.  No  words  of  mine  will  ever  express 
that  moment  to  you.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  whole 
world  had  been  crying  out  with  me,  that  everything 
that  was  not  pain  was  clamour,  and  then  that  my  baby's 
feeble  cry  had  hushed  it  all.  They  laid  me  back  in  my 
great  bed.  It  was  like  entering  Paradise  to  me,  in 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

spite  of  my  excessive  weakness.  Then  two  or  three 
people  with  joyful  faces  and  tearful  eyes  held  out 
the  child  to  me.  My  dear,  I  cried  out  in  horror: 

"  What  a  little  monkey!  "  I  said.  "  Are  you  sure 
it  is  a  baby?  "  I  asked.  And  I  lay  back  once  more, 
rather  grieved  at  not  feeling  more  maternal. 

"  Don't  distress  yourself,  my  dear,"  said  my  moth- 
er, who  had  constituted  herself  my  nurse,  "  you've 
borne  the  finest  child  that  ever  was  seen.  Take  care 
not  to  excite  yourself;  you  must  apply  your  whole 
mind  now  to  growing  dull;  you  must  be  just  exactly 
like  the  cow  that  grazes  for  the  sake  of  having  milk." 

So  I  went  to  sleep,  firmly  resolved  to  do  as  Nature 
bade  me.  Ah,  dearest,  the  waking  up  out  of  all  that 
pain,  those  confused  feelings,  those  first  days  during 
which  everything  is  dim  and  painful  and  uncertain, 
was  something  divine.  The  darkness  was  lightened 
by  a  sensation  the  delights  of  which  surpassed  that  of 
my  child's  first  cry.  My  heart,  my  soul,  my  being,  an 
individuality  hitherto  unknown  was  roused  out  of  the 
shell  in  which  it  had  been  lying  suffering  and  dull, 
just  as  the  flower  springs  from  the  root  at  the  blazing 
summons  of  the  sun.  The  little  rogue  was  put  to  my 
breast;  that  was  my  "  fiat  lux''  Of  a  sudden  I  knew  I 
was  a  mother.  Here  was  happiness,  delight — ineffable 
delight,  although  it  be  one  which  involves  some  suf- 
fering. O  my  beautiful,  jealous  Louise,  how  you  will 
prize  a  pleasure  which  lies  between  ourselves,  the 
child,  and  God!  The  only  earthly  thing  the  little 
creature  knows  is  his  mother's  breast,  that  is  the  only 

213 


The  Memoirs  of   Two  Young  Brides 

spot  that  shines  to  him  in  all  the  world.  He  loves  it 
with  all  his  strength;  he  thinks  of  nothing  but  the 
fountain  of  his  life;  he  comes  to  it,  and  goes  away  to 
sleep,  and  wakes  to  come  back  to  it  again.  There  is 
an  ineffable  love  in  the  very  touch  of  his  lips,  and 
when  I  feel  them,  they  give  me  pain  and  pleasure  at 
once — &  pleasure  that  becomes  an  actual  pain — a  pain 
that  ends  in  delight.  I  can  give  no  explanation  of  the 
sensation  I  feel  radiate  from  my  breast  to  the  very 
springs  of  my  life — for  it  seems  as  though  it  were  the 
centre  of  a  thousand  rays,  that  rejoice  my  heart  and 
soul.  To  bear  a  child  is  nothing,  but  to  nurse  it  is  a 
perpetual  maternity.  O  Louise,  no  lover's  caress  can 
equal  that  of  the  little  pink  hands  that  move  about  so 
softly  and  try  to  cling  to  life.  What  looks  the  child 
casts,  first  at  its  mother's  breast,  and  then  at  her  eyes. 
What  dreams  she  dreams,  as  she  watches  his  lips 
clinging  to  his  precious  possession.  All  one's  mental 
powers,  as  well  as  all  one's  bodily  strength,  are  called 
into  action.  One's  corporal  life  and  one's  intelli- 
gence are  both  kept  busy.  Every  desire  is  more  than 
satisfied. 

That  heavenly  sensation  of  my  child's  first  cry— 
which  was  to  me  what  the  first  sunbeam  must  have 
been  to  the  earth — came  back  to  me  when  I  felt  my 
milk  flow  into  his  mouth,  and  it  came  back  to  me 
again  just  now,  when  I  read  his  first  thought  in  his 
first  smile.  He  laughed,  my  dear.  That  laugh,  that 
look,  that  pressure,  that  cry,  those  four  delights  are 
infinite — they  stir  the  very  bottom  of  one's  heart  and 

214 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

touch  strings  which  nothing  but  they  can  reach.  The 
spheres  must  be  bound  to  the  Deity,  even  as  a  child 
is  bound  to  every  fibre  of  his  mother's  being.  God 
must  be  one  great  mother's  heart.  There  is  nothing 
visible,  nor  perceptible,  in  conception,  nor  even  in  the 
months  of  waiting;  but  to  nurse  a  child,  Louise,  is  a 
constant  happiness.  You  watch  the  daily  progress  of 
your  work,  you  see  the  milk  grow  into  flesh,  and 
blossom  in  the  dainty  fingers,  so  like  flowers  and  quite 
as  delicate — you  see  it  form  slender  and  transparent 
nails,  and  silky  hair,  and  little  restless  feet.  A  child's 
feet — why,  they  have  a  language  of  their  own — a 
child's  first  expression  lies  in  them.  To  nurse  a  child, 
Louise,  is  to  watch  with  astonished  eye  an  hourly 
process  of  transformation.  When  the  baby  cries, 
you  do  not  hear  it  with  your  ears,  but  with  your 
heart.  When  its  eyes  smile,  or  its  lips,  or  it  kicks 
with  its  feet,  you  understand  all  it  means  as  though 
God  wrote  it  for  you  on  space  in  letters  of  fire.  Noth- 
ing else  in  the  world  possesses  the  smallest  interest 
for  you.  The  father  .  .  .  you  are  ready  to  kill  him 
if  he  dares  wake  the  child.  The  mother  by  herself  is 
the  whole  world  to  her  babe,  just  as  the  babe  is  the 
whole  world  to  its  mother.  She  feels  so  certain  that 
her  existence  is  shared  by  another,  she  is  so  amply  re- 
warded for  her  care  and  suffering — for  there  is  suf- 
fering ...  as  every  nursing  mother  finds  out  for 
herself. 

In  these  five  months  my  young  monkey  has  grown 
into  the  prettiest   creature   that   any   mother  ever 

215 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

bathed  with  her  happy  tears,  washed,  brushed, 
combed,  and  adorned,  for  God  himself  only  knows 
the  unwearying  delight  with  which  a  mother  dresses, 
and  undresses,  brushes  and  washes  and  kisses  her 
little  blossom.  My  monkey,  then,  is  not  a  monkey 
any  longer,  but  a  baby,  as  my  English  nurse  calls  him, 
a  pink-and-white  baby,  and  feeling  himself  loved,  he 
doesn't  scream  so  very  much — but  the  real  truth  is 
that  I  hardly  ever  leave  him,  and  I  try  to  pervade  his 
very  soul  with  mine. 

Dearest,  I  feel  something  in  my  heart  for  Louis 
now  which  is  not  love,  but  which  must  complete  the 
feeling  in  the  case  of  a  woman  who  does  love.  I  am 
not  sure  that  this  tender  regard,  this  gratitude,  which 
is  quite  free  from  any  interested  feeling,  is  not  some- 
thing beyond  love.  According  to  all  you  have  told 
me  about  it,  my  darling,  there  is  something  frightfully 
earthly  about  love,  whereas  there  is  something  very 
religious  and  divine  in  the  affection  of  a  happy  mother 
for  the  man  who  has  given  her  these  endearing  and 
never-ending  joys.  A  mother's  joy  is  a  light  shining 
over  and  illuminating  the  future,  and  reflecting  back 
over  the  past,  which  it  fills  with  delightful  memories. 

And  indeed  old  M.  de  1'Estorade  and  his  son  are 
kinder  than  ever  to  me.  I  have  become  a  new  per- 
son in  their  eyes.  Their  words  and  looks  go  to  my  very 
heart,  for  they  rejoice  over  me  afresh  each  time  they 
see  or  speak  to  me.  The  old  grandfather  is  growing 
childish,  I  think;  he  gazes  upon  me  with  admiration. 
The  first  time  I  came  downstairs  to  breakfast  and  bf 

216 


The   Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

saw  me  eating  with  them  and  nursing  his  grandson^ 
he  began  to  cry.  Those  tears  in  the  dry  eyes  which 
rarely  shine  with  anything  save  thoughts  of  money, 
were  an  inexpressible  delight  to  me — they  made  me 
feel  as  if  the  old  fellow  understood  my  joy.  As  for 
Louis,  he  was  ready  to  tell  the  very  trees  and  stones 
on  the  high-road  that  he  had  a  son.  He  spends  whole 
hours  watching  your  godson  asleep;  he  says  he  doesn't 
know  if  he  will  ever  grow  accustomed  to  seeing  him. 
These  demonstrations  of  excessive  delight  have  re- 
vealed the  extent  of  their  fears  and  terrors  to  me,  and 
Louis  has  ended  by  confessing  that  he  had  grave 
doubts,  and  indeed  believed,  he  was  fated  never  to 
have  a  child  at  all.  My  poor  Louis  has  suddenly  and 
vastly  improved.  He  studies  still  harder  than  before. 
As  for  me,  dear  soul,  I  grow  happier  and  happier  every 
moment.  Every  hour  adds  some  fresh  bond  between 
a  mother  and  her  child.  The  feeling  within  my  heart 
convinces  me  that  this  maternal  sentiment  is  imper- 
ishable, natural,  and  unfailing — whereas  I  strongly  sus- 
pect that  love  has  its  intermissions.  People  do  not 
love  each  other  in  the  same  fashion  at  every  moment 
—the  flowers  embroidered  into  the  tissue  of  this  life 
are  not  always  of  the  brightest  colours.  And  then, 
love  may  and  must  come  to  an  end.  But  motherhood 
need  fear  no  decline;  it  deepens  with  the  child's  needs 
and  develops  with  its  growth.  Is  it  not  a  passion,  a 
need,  a  feeling,  a  duty,  a  necessity,  and  happiness,  all 
at  once?  Yes,  my  dearest;  this  is  the  woman's  own 
Special  life.  It  satisfies  our  thirst  for  sacrifice,  and  it 

217 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

is  free  from  the  disturbing  effects  of  jealousy.  And 
perhaps  it  is  the  only  point,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned, 
on  which  Nature  and  Society  are  agreed.  In  this 
matter  Society  certainly  has  enriched  Nature,  for  it 
has  strengthened  the  maternal  sentiment,  by  the  addi- 
tion of  the  family  spirit,  with  its  continuity  of  name 
and  race  and  fortune.  What  love  must  a  woman  lav- 
ish on  the  beloved  being  who  has  first  acquainted  her 
with  such  delights,  has  called  the  strength  of  her  be- 
ing into  action,  and  taught  her  the  great  art  of  moth- 
erhood! The  birthright  of  the  elder  son,  which  is  as 
old  as  the  world  itself,  and  is  mingled  with  the  origin 
of  every  society,  seems  to  me  not  open  to  question. 
How  many  things  does  a  child  teach  its  mother!  We 
give  so  many  hostages  to  virtue  by  the  incessant  pro- 
tection we  owe  to  the  feeble  creature  born  of  us,  that 
no  wife  has  reached  her  true  sphere  unless  she  is  a 
mother.  Then  alone  does  she  unfold  all  her  strength, 
perform  the  full  duties  of  her  life,  and  enjoy  all  its 
happiness  and  all  its  pleasures.  A  wife  who  is  not  a 
mother  is  an  incomplete  being — a  failure.  Make 
haste  to  be  a  mother,  my  dear  one,  then  will  your 
present  happiness  be  multiplied  by  all  my  joys.  .  .  . 
I  broke  off  writing  because  I  heard  your  godson 
cry.  I  can  hear  him  crying  from  the  bottom  of  the 
garden.  I  cannot  send  this  letter  without  saying 
one  word  of  good-bye  to  you.  I  have  just  read  it 
over,  and  I  am  startled  by  the  commonplaceness  of 
the  feeling  it  expresses.  I  fear,  alas!  that  every  moth- 
er has  felt  what  I  feel,  and  must  express  it  in  the  same 

218 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

fashion.  And  I  fear  you'll  laugh  at  me,  just  as  people 
laugh  at  the  simplicity  of  every  father  who  talks 
about  the  beauty  and  intelligence  of  his  children  and 
thinks  each  one  of  them  has  something  very  remark- 
able about  it.  Well,  dearest  love,  here  is  the  great 
point  of  my  letter — I  will  say  it  again:  I  am  as  happy 
now  as  I  was  unhappy  before.  This  country-house, 
which  is  now  to  be  a  property  settled  on  my  eldest 
son,  is  my  Promised  Land.  I  have  crossed  my  desert 
at  last.  A  thousand  loves  to  you,  my  dearest  love! 
Write  to  me.  I  can  read  your  description  of  your 
happiness  and  your  love  without  shedding  tears,  now. 
Farewell! 


Vol.  2 


XXXII 

FROM  MME.  DE  MACUMER  TO  MME.  DE  I/ESTORADE 

March,  1826. 

How's  this,  my  love?  For  three  months  I  have 
not  written  a  line  to  you  nor  heard  of  you.  .  .  .  I'm 
the  most  guilty  of  the  two,  for  I  owe  you  a  letter. 
But  still  I  have  never  known  you  to  be  huffy. 

We  took  your  silence,  Macumer  and  I,  to  mean 
consent  as  to  the  breakfast  service  with  the  figures 
of  children,  and  the  pretty  things  will  be  sent  off  to 
Marseilles  this  very  day.  These  Paris  people  have 
taken  six  months  to  make  them.  And  it  really  woke 
me  with  a  shock  when  Macumer  suggested  we  should 
go  and  look  at  the  service  before  the  silversmith 
packed  it  up.  Suddenly  it  struck  me  we  had  never  ex- 
changed a  word  since  that  letter  of  yours  that  made 
me  feel  myself  a  mother  in  your  person. 

Dearest,  this  dreadful  Paris — there's  my  sole  ex- 
cuse. I  am  still  waiting  to  hear  yours.  Oh,  what  an 
abyss  Society  is!  Didn't  I  tell  you  long  ago  that  in 
Paris  one  has  no  chance  of  being  anything  but  a 
Parisienne?  The  life  here  destroys  all  sentiment.  It 
eats  up  all  your  time.  It  would  eat  up  your  very  heart 
if  you  were  not  careful.  What  a  wonderful  master- 

220 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

piece  is  that  character  of  Celimene  in  Moliere's  Misan- 
thrope! She  is  the  woman  of  fashion  of  Louis  XIV's 
time,  and  of  ours — the  woman  of  fashion  of  all  times, 
in  short.  What  would  become  of  me  without  my 
buckler — in  other  words,  my  love  for  Felipe?  And 
indeed  only  this  morning,  thinking  of  it  all,  I  told  him 
he  was  my  salvation.  Though  my  evenings  are  all 
taken  up  with  parties,  balls,  concerts,  theatres,  I  can 
come  back  from  them  to  the  delights  of  love,  to  the 
sweet  follies  that  gladden  my  heart  and  heal  the  stings 
the  world  inflicts  upon  it.  I  have  never  dined  at  home 
except  on  the  days  when  we  have  entertained  what  are 
called  one's  friends,  and  I  have  never  sat  at  home 
except  on  my  reception  days.  I  have  a  day  of  my 
own,  the  Wednesday,  on  which  I  receive  my  company. 
I  have  entered  the  lists  with  Mme.  d'Espard,  and  Mme. 
de  Maufrigneuse,and  the  old  Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt. 
My  house  is  considered  a  very  pleasant  one.  I  al- 
lowed myself  to  be  made  the  fashion  when  I  saw  how 
happy  my  Felipe  was  in  my  success.  My  forenoons 
I  devote  to  him — for  from  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  belong  to 
Paris.  Macumer  is  a  most  perfect  host,  so  witty  and 
yet  so  serious,  so  genuinely  noble  and  so  absolutely 
gracious — he  would  make  himself  loved  even  by  a 
woman  who  had  married  him  in  the  first  place  for  her 
own  convenience.  My  father  and  mother  have  de- 
parted to  Madrid.  Once  Louis  XVIII  was  dead  the 
Duchesse  easily  persuaded  our  good-natured  King 
Charles  X  to  appoint  her  charming  poet  to  the  Em- 

221 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

bassy,  and  she  has  carried  him  off  as  an  attache.  My 
brother,  the  Due  de  Rhetore;  condescends  to  consider 
me  a  superior  woman.  As  for  the  Comte  de  Chaulieu, 
that  carpet-knight  owes  me  undying  gratitude.  Be- 
fore my  father's  departure  my  fortune  was  applied  to 
settling  a  landed  property  worth  forty  thousand 
francs  a  year  upon  him,  and  his  marriage  with  Mile, 
de  Mortsauf,  a  great  heiress  from  Touraine,  is  quite  a 
settled  thing.  To  avoid  the  extinction  of  the  titles 
of  Lenoncourt  and  Givry,  the  King  is  about  to  grant 
my  brother  the  succession  to  the  names,  titles,  and 
arms  of  these  two  houses.  How,  indeed,  could  his 
Majesty  permit  two  such  splendid  names  and  their 
proud  motto,  Faciem  semper  monstramus,  to  drop  out 
of  existence?  Mile,  de  Mortsauf,  who  is  the  grand- 
child and  sole  heiress  of  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt — 
Givry  will,  I  hear,  have  over  a  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  year.  My  father  has  only  made  one  stipula- 
tion— that  the  Chaulieu  arms  should  be  borne  in  an 
escutcheon  of  pretense  on  those  of  Lenoncourt.  So 
my  brother  will  be  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt.  Young 
M.  de  Mortsauf,  to  whom  the  whole  of  this  fortune 
should  have  passed,  is  in  the  last  stage  of  consump- 
tion; his  death  is  expected  at  any  moment.  Next 
winter,  when  the  mourning  for  him  is  over,  the  mar- 
riage will  take  place.  I  am  told  I  shall  find  Madeleine 
de  Mortsauf  a  most  delightful  sister-in-law.  Thus,  as 
you  see,  my  father's  argument  was  sound.  This  result 
has  gained  me  the  admiration  of  many  people,  and 
my  marriage  is  now  accounted  for.  Out  of  affection 

222 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

for  my  grandmother,  the  Prince  de  Talleyrand  makes 
a  great  deal  of  Macumer,  and  thus  our  success  is  quite 
complete.  Society,  which  began  by  finding  fault  with 
me,  now  lavishes  approval  on  me.  In  short,  I  am 
now  a  power  in  this  very  Paris  where,  less  than  two 
years  ago,  I  was  so  insignificant  a  person.  Macumer 
sees  his  good  fortune  envied  by  every  one  about  him, 
for  I  am  "  the  wittiest  woman  in  Paris."  You  know 
there  are  a  score  of  "  the  wittiest  women  in  Paris  "  in 
this  city.  The  men  coo  words  of  admiration  in  my 
ear,  or  content  themselves  with  expressing  it  by  hun- 
gry glances.  Really  this  concert  of  longing  and  ad- 
miration brings  such  a  never-ending  satisfaction  to 
one's  vanity,  that  I  am  now  able  to  understand  the 
excessive  expenditure  into  which  some  women  fall 
in  their  desire  to  enjoy  these  frail  and  fleeting  joys. 
Such  triumphs  intoxicate  one's  pride,  one's  vanity, 
one's  conceit,  and  every  feeling,  in  short,  that  has 
to  do  with  self.  The  perpetual  worship  so  gets  into 
one's  head,  that  I  never  wonder  when  I  see  a  woman 
grow  selfish,  forgetful,  and  frivolous  in  the  midst  of 
all  her  gaities.  Society  does  certainly  affect  the 
brain.  We  shower  the  blossoms  of  our  heart  and  in- 
tellect, our  most  precious  hours,  our  most  liberal 
efforts,  on  people  who  repay  us  with  jealousy  and 
empty  smiles,  and  exchange  the  base  coin  of  their 
empty  phrases,  their  vain  compliments  and  adulation, 
for  the  gold  ingots  of  our  courage,  our  sacrifice,  and 
all  the  ingenuity  we  use  to  be  beautiful,  well  dressed, 
witty,  affable,  and  unfailingly  delightful.  We  know 

223 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

what  a  costly  game  it  is,  we  know  we  are  cheated,  and 
yet,  in  spite  of  all,  every  one  of  us  is  devoted  to  it. 
Ah,  dearest  love,  how  one  longs  for  a  faithful  heart, 
how  precious  are  my  Felipe's  love  and  devotion,  how 
dear  you  are  to  me!  With  what  delight  am  I  now 
preparing  to  turn  my  back  on  the  play-acting  here  in 
the  Rue  de  Bac,  and  in  every  Paris  drawing-room,  and 
to  seek  repose  at  Chantepleurs.  In  fine,  after  read- 
ing over  your  letter,  I  feel  I  shall  have  described  this 
infernal  paradise  called  Paris  most  truly  when  I  tell 
you  it  is  impossible  for  any  woman  of  fashion  to  be  a 
mother. 

I  shall  see  you  soon,  my  darling.  We  shall  not 
delay  more  than  a  week  at  Chantepleurs,  and  we  shall 
be  with  you  toward  the  tenth  of  May.  So  we  are  to 
meet  again,  after  two  years'  separation.  How  things 
have  changed!  We  are  both  of  us  women,  now.  I 
am  the  happiest  of  Mistresses;  you  the  happiest  of 
Mothers.  Though  I  have  not  written,  my  dearest 
love,  it  is  not  because  I  have  forgotten  you.  And 
that  monkey  of  a  godson  of  mine — is  he  still  pretty? 
Does  he  do  me  credit?  I  should  like  to  have  seen  him 
take  his  first  step  in  the  world — but  Macumer  tells 
me  even  the  most  precocious  children  can  hardly  walk 
at  ten  months  old.  Well,  we'll  have  a  rare  gossip,  as 
they  say  at  Blois,  and  I  shall  see  whether,  as  many 
people  declare,  a  baby  spoils  one's  figure. 

P.  S. — If  you  send  me  an  answer,  most  noble  moth- 
er? address  your  letter  to  Chantepleurs.  I  am  just 
Starting. 

224 


XXXIII 

FROM  MME.  DE  I/ESTORADE  TO  MME.  DE  MACUMER 

ALACK,  my  child,  if  ever  you  have  a  baby  of  your 
own,  you'll  find  out  whether  there's  any  possibility  of 
writing  during  the  first  two  months  of  one's  nursing. 
We  are  fairly  worn-out,  my  English  nurse,  Mary,  and 
I.  But  I  know  I  haven't  told  you  that  I  insist  upon 
doing  everything  myself.  Before  the  child  was  born 
I  made  all  his  clothes,  and  embroidered  and  trimmed 
all  his  caps  myself.  I  am  a  slave,  my  dear,  a  slave 
all  day  and  all  night.  First  of  all,  Armand-Louis 
must  be  nursed  whenever  he  chooses,  and  he  always 
chooses.  Then  he  has  to  be  perpetually  washed  and 
tidied  up,  and  dressed,  and  his  mother  so  delights  in 
watching  him  when  he  is  asleep,  and  singing  songs 
to  him,  and  carrying  him  about  in  her  arms  when  the 
weather  is  fine,  that  there  is  no  time  left  for  her  to 
attempt  to  attend  to  herself.  Well,  while  you  had 
the  gay  world,  I  had  my  child — our  child.  How  rich 
and  full  my  life  is!  Oh,  my  dear,  I  am  looking  for 
your  coming — you  shall  see.  But  I'm  afraid  his 
teething  is  beginning,  and  that  you'll  think  him  very 
noisy  and  fretful.  He  has  not  cried  much  as  yet,  for 

225 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

I  am  always  by.  Children  only  cry  because  they 
feel  a  want  which  nobody  guesses,  but  I  am  perpetu- 
ally on  the  track  of  his.  Oh,  my  dearest,  how  my 
heart-life  has  widened,  while  you  have  been  narrowing 
yours  down  by  setting  it  to  serve  the  gay  world.  I  am 
expecting  you  with  all  the  eagerness  of  a  hermit.  I 
am  longing  for  your  opinion  of  1'Estorade,  just  as 
you,  I  am  sure,  long  to  know  mine  of  Macumer. 
Write  me  your  last  stopping-place — my  two  men 
would  like  to  go  out  to  meet  our  illustrious  guests. 
Come  then,  my  Queen  of  Paris!  come  to  our  poor 
country-house,  where  you  will  be  most  lovingly  wel- 
comed. 


226 


XXXIV 

MME.    DE  MACUMER   TO   VICOMTESSE   DE   I/ESTORADE 

April,  1826. 

DEAREST:  The  address  on  this  letter  will  inform 
you  of  the  success  of  my  endeavours.  Your  father-in- 
law  is  now  the  Comte  de  1'Estorade.  I  was  deter- 
mined not  to  leave  Paris  without  having  obtained 
your  wish  for  you,  and  I  write  this  in  the  presence  of 
the  Garde  des  Sceaux,  who  has  just  come  to  tell  me 
the  decree  is  actually  signed. 

We  shall  meet  before  long. 


22? 


XXXV 

THE   SAME   TO   THE    SAME 

MARSEILLES,  July. 

MY  sudden  departure  will  have  astonished  you, 
and  I  am  ashamed  of  it.  But  since  I  am  always  truth- 
ful, and  since  I  love  you  just  as  much  as  ever,  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  the  whole  thing  frankly  in  two 
words — I  am  horribly  jealous.  Felipe  looked  at  you 
too  much,  you  used  to  have  little  conversations  at  the 
foot  of  your  rock  that  put  me  to  torture,  soured  my 
temper,  and  were  altering  my  whole  nature.  That 
Spanish  beauty  of  yours  must  have  reminded  him  of 
his  own  country,  and  of  that  Maria  Heredia,  of  whom 
I  am  jealous — for  I  am  jealous  of  his  past.  Your  mag- 
nificent black  hair,  and  your  splendid  dark  eyes,  your 
brow,  eloquent  of  the  joys  of  motherhood — the  shad- 
ows of  bygone  anguish  just  touching  their  radiant 
light,  the  bloom  of  your  Southern  skin,  whiter  even 
than  that  which  goes  with  my  fair  hair,  your  noble 
outline,  your  white  bosom,  shining  under  your  laces  as 
though  it  were  some  exquisite  fruit  to  which  my 
pretty  godson  clings — all  these  things  pain  my  eyes 
and  pain  my  heart.  In  vain  did  I  put  corn-flowers  in 
my  hair,  or  brighten  the  dulness  of  my  fair  tresses 

228 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

with  cherry-coloured  ribbon — everything  paled  be- 
fore a  Renee  such  as  I  had  not  dreamt  I  should  find 
in  the  oasis  of  La  Crampade. 

Besides,  Felipe  was  too  covetous  of  the  child,  and 
I  was  beginning  to  hate  it.  Yes!  I  envied  the  insolent 
baby-life  that  fills  your  house  and  peoples  it  with 
laughter  and  with  noise. 

I  read  regret  in  Macumer's  eyes,  and  cried  over  it 
two  whole  nights  in  secret.  I  suffered  agonies  while 
I  was  with  you.  You  are  too  beautiful  a  woman  and 
too  happy  a  mother  for  me  to  be  able  to  stay  with  you. 
Ah,  hypocrite — and  you  complained!  To  begin  with, 
your  1'Estorade  is  a  charming  fellow;  he  talks  very 
well;  his  black  hair  streaked  with  white  is  good  to 
look  at;  he  has  fine  eyes,  and  his  manners  have  just 
that  Southern  touch  which  is  attractive.  From  what 
I  have  seen,  I  am  certain  he  will  sooner  or  later  be 
elected  Deputy  for  the  Bouches  du  Rhone,  and  he 
will  make  his  way  in  the  Chamber — for  I  shall  always 
be  ready  to  serve  you  in  everything  that  concerns 
your  ambition.  The  sufferings  of  his  exile  have  given 
him  that  air  of  calm  and  steadiness  which  always 
seems  to  me  to  be  half  the  battle  in  politics.  In  my 
view,  my  dear,  the  greatest  thing  in  political  life  is 
to  look  solemn.  And  indeed  I  am  always  telling 
Macumer  he  must  be  a  very  great  statesman. 

To  sum  it  up,  now  that  I  am  quite  certain  of  your 
happiness,  I  am  off  at  full  speed  to  Chantepleurs, 
where  I  expect  Felipe  to  make  me,  too,  a  mother.  I 
will  not  have  you  there  till  I  am  nursing  a  child 

229 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

as  beautiful  as  yours.  I  deserve  every  name  you 
choose  to  call  me — I  am  absurd  and  vile — I  have  no 
sense.  Alas!  all  that  comes  to  a  woman  when  she 
is  jealous.  I  bear  you  no  ill-will,  but  I  was  in  misery, 
and  you  will  forgive  me  for  having  fled  my  suffering. 
In  another  two  days  I  should  have  done  something 
foolish — oh,  yes,  I  should  have  committed  some  sin 
against  good  taste.  In  spite  of  the  rage  that  tore  my 
heart,  I  am  glad  to  have  been  with  you,  I  am  glad 
to  have  seen  you — so  beautiful  in  your  fruitful  moth- 
erhood, and  my  friend  still,  amid  your  maternal  joys, 
just  as  I  still  am  yours,  in  the  midst  of  all  my  love. 
Why,  even  here  at  Marseilles,  a  few  steps  from  you, 
I  am  proud  of  you  already — proud  of  the  noble  mother 
of  children  you  will  be.  How  truly  you  have  divined 
your  own  vocation — for  you  seem  to  me  to  be  born 
more  of  the  mother  than  the  mistress,  just  as  I  am 
born  for  love  rather  than  for  maternity.  There  are 
some  women  who  can  neither  be  the  one  thing  nor 
the  other;  they  are  either  too  ugly  or  too  stupid.  A 
good  mother,  and  a  wife  who  is  her  husband's  mis- 
tress, must  be  perpetually  exerting  their  intelligence 
and  their  judgment,  and  must  know  how  to  bring  all 
the  most  exquisite  feminine  qualities  to  bear  at  any 
moment.  Oh,  I  have  watched  you  well.  And  does 
not  that  tell  you,  my  darling,  that  I  have  admired 
you?  Your  children  will  be  happy,  they  will  be  well 
brought  up,  lapped  in  your  tenderness,  warmed  by 
the  beams  of  your  heart's  love. 

You  can  tell  your  Louis  the  truth  about  my  de- 
230 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

parture,  but  present  it  in  some  creditable  light  to 
your  father-in-law,  who  seems  to  be  your  man  of  busi- 
ness, and  especially  to  your  own  family,  so  exactly  like 
that  of  Clarissa  Harlowe  with  its  own  Provencal  wit 
thrown  in.  Felipe  does  not  know  why  I  have  left 
you  yet,  and  he  will  never  know.  If  he  inquires,  I 
shall  contrive  to  find  some  reason  that  will  satisfy  him. 
Probably  I  shall  tell  him  you  were  jealous  of  me.  You 
will  permit  me  that  little  semi-official  fib.  Farewell! 
I  am  writing  hurriedly  so  that  you  may  have  this 
letter  at  breakfast-time,  and  the  postillion,  who  has 
undertaken  to  deliver  it  to  you,  is  drinking  below 
while  he  awaits  it.  Mind  you  kiss  my  dear  little  god- 
son for  me.  Come  to  Chantepleurs  in  October;  I 
shall  be  there  alone  all  the  time  that  Macumer  is  in 
Sardinia,  where  he  intends  to  make  great  alterations 
on  his  estates.  Such,  at  least,  is  his  plan  at  this  mo- 
ment, and  it  is  a  piece  of  conceit  on  his  part  to  have  a 
plan.  He  fancies  he  is  independent.  So  he  is  always 
very  nervous  when  he  mentions  it  to  me.  Farewell! 


232 


XXXVI 

THE  VICOMTESSE  DE  I/ESTORADE  TO  THE  BARONNE 
MACUMER 

WORDS  fail  to  express  our  astonishment,  my  dear, 
when  we  heard  at  breakfast-time  that  you  were  gone, 
and  especially  when  the  postillion  who  had  taken 
you  to  Marseilles  brought  me  back  your  mad  letter. 
Why,  naughty  creature,  all  those  conversations  on 
"  Louise's  seat "  at  the  foot  of  the  rock  only  con- 
cerned your  happiness,  and  you  did  very  wrong  to 
take  offence  at  them.  Ingrate!  my  sentence  is  that 
you  must  return  at  my  very  first  summons.  That 
hateful  letter,  scrawled  on  the  innkeeper's  paper,  does 
not  give  me  any  of  your  stopping-places,  so  I  am 
obliged  to  send  my  answer  to  Chantepleurs. 

Listen  to  me  now,  dear  sister  of  my  choice,  and 
be  sure,  above  all  things,  that  my  sole  object  is  your 
happiness.  There  is  a  depth,  my  Louise,  in  your  hus- 
band's soul  and  mind  that  overawes  one  as  much  as 
his  natural  gravity  and  his  noble  countenance.  Fur- 
ther, his  expressive  ugliness  and  his  soft  glance  have 
a  real  power  about  them.  Therefore  it  was  some  time 
before  I  could  reach  that  point  of  familiarity  without 
which  no  thorough  observation  is  possible.  Besides, 

232 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

this  ci-devant  Prime  Minister  worships  you  even  as 
he  worships  God.  Hence  he  necessarily  practises  a 
profound  dissimulation.  And  to  lure  the  diplomat's 
secrets  from  beneath  the  rocks  sunk  deep  down  in  his 
heart,  I  was  fain  to  use  all  the  skill  and  cunning  I  pos- 
sessed. But  I  ended,  at  last,  without  any  suspicion 
on  the  good  man's  part,  by  discovering  many  things 
of  which  my  darling  does  not  dream.  Of  us  two,  I 
stand  for  Reason,  even  as  you  stand  for  Imagination. 
I  am  grave  Duty;  you  are  giddy  Love.  Fate  has 
willed  that  this  moral  contrast,  originally  confined  to 
our  two  persons,  should  be  continued  in  our  destinies. 
I  am  a  humble  provincial  Vicomtesse,  exceedingly 
ambitious,  whose  mission  it  is  to  guide  her  family  on 
the  road  to  prosperity.  Whereas  every  one  knows 
that  Macumer  was  once  the  Duque  de  Soria,  and  you 
who  are  by  right  a  Duchesse,  are  a  Queen  in  Paris, 
where  even  kings  find  it  so  difficult  to  reign.  You 
have  a  great  fortune,  which  Macumer  will  double  if 
he  carries  out  his  plans  for  working  his  huge  proper- 
ties in  Sardinia,  the  value  of  which  is  a  matter  of  com- 
mon knowledge  in  Marseilles.  You  must  confess  that 
if  one  of  us  were  to  be  jealous,  it  should  be  me.  But 
let  us  thank  God  that  we  are  both  too  noble-hearted 
for  our  friendship  ever  to  descend  to  vulgar  pettiness. 
I  know  you  well.  You  are  ashamed  of  having  left  me. 
For  all  your  flight,  I  will  not  spare  you  one  word 
of  what  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  say  to  you 
to-day  at  the  foot  of  my  rock.  So  read  this  letter 
carefully,  I  beseech  you,  for  it  concerns  you  even  more 

233 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

than  it  concerns  Macumer,  although  he  is  of  great  im- 
portance to  my  argument.  In  the  first  place,  my 
darling,  you  don't  love  him.  Before  two  years  are 
out  you  will  be  weary  of  his  adoration.  You  will  never 
look  upon  Felipe  as  a  husband,  but  always  as  a  lover, 
with  whom  you  will  trifle  quite  unconcernedly,  as 
every  woman  trifles  with  her  lover.  You  stand  in  no 
awe  of  him,  you  have  not  that  profound  respect,  that 
tenderness  touched  with  fear  which  a  truly  loving 
woman  feels  for  the  man  who  is  as  a  god  to  her.  Oh, 
I've  studied  this  matter  of  love,  my  child,  and  more 
than  once  I  have  sounded  the  depths  of  my  own 
heart.  Now  that  I  have  watched  you  well,  I  can  say 
it  to  you — you  do  not  love.  Yes,  dear  Queen  of  Paris, 
you  will  long  some  day,  like  every  other  queen,  to  be 
treated  like  a  "  grisette."  You  will  pine  to  be  mas- 
tered and  swept  along  by  some  strong  man,  who,  in- 
stead of  adoring  you,  will  snatch  at  your  arm  and 
bruise  it  in  the  heat  of  a  jealous  quarrel.  Macumer 
loves  you  too  much  ever  to  be  able  to  rebuke  or  resist 
you.  One  look  from  you,  one  coaxing  word,  melts  his 
strongest  will  to  water.  Sooner  or  later,  you  will  de- 
spise him  for  loving  you  too  much;  he  spoils  you,  alas! 
just  as  I  spoiled  you  in  the  convent — for  you  are  one 
of  the  most  seductive  of  women,  with  the  most  en- 
chanting intelligences  that  can  ever  be  conceived. 
Above  all  things,  you  are  genuine,  and  our  own  hap- 
piness often  exacts  social  falsehoods  to  which  you  will 
never  condescend.  Thus,  Society  demands  that  a 
woman  should  never  allow  the  influence  she  exerts 

234 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

over  her  husband  to  appear.  Socially  speaking,  a  hus- 
band should  no  more  seem  to  be  his  wife's  lover,  if  he 
should  love  her  in  that  fashion,  than  a  wife  should 
play  the  part  of  a  mistress.  Now  you  both  trans- 
gress this  law.  In  the  first  place,  my  child,  if  I  am 
to  judge  the  world  by  what  you  have  told  me  of  it, 
the  last  thing  it  will  forgive  is  happiness — that  must 
be  hidden  from  its  sight.  But  this  is  nothing.  There 
is  an  equality  between  lovers  which,  to  my  thinking, 
can  never  be  apparent  between  wife  and  husband,  ex- 
cept under  pain  of  a  social  upheaval,  and  of  irreparable 
woes.  A  man  who  is  a  cipher  is  a  frightful  thing,  but 
there  is  something  worse — a  man  who  has  been  turned 
into  a  cipher.  Within  a  certain  time,  you  will  have 
reduced  Macumer  to  nothing,  but  the  shadow  of  a 
man.  His  power  of  volition  will  have  passed  from 
him,  he  will  not  be  himself,  but  something  you  have 
shaped  to  your  own  uses.  So  completely  will  you 
have  assimilated  him,  that  instead  of  two  persons  in 
your  household,  there  will  be  only  one,  and  that  a 
being  which  must  necessarily  be  incomplete.  This 
will  bring  suffering  on  you,  and  by  the  time  you  con- 
descend to  open  your  eyes,  there  will  be  no  remedy  for 
the  evil.  However  we  may  strive,  our  sex  will  never 
possess  the  peculiar  qualities  of  men,  and  these  quali- 
ties are  more  than  necessary,  they  are  indispen- 
sable to  the  family.  At  this  moment,  and  in  spite  of 
his  blindness,  Macumer  has  a  glimpse  of  the  future; 
he  feels  he  is  lowered  by  his  love.  His  proposed  jour- 
ney to  Sardinia  convinces  me  of  his  desire  to  recover 

235 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

himself  by  means  of  that  temporary  separation.  You 
never  hesitate  to  wield  the  power  love  gives  you. 
Your  authority  is  evident  in  your  gestures,  your  looks, 
your  voice.  Oh,  dearest,  as  your  mother  used  to  tell 
you,  you  behave  like  a  giddy  courtesan. 

You  are  quite  convinced,  darling,  that  I  am  vastly 
Louis's  superior;  but  did  you  ever  hear  me  contradict 
him?  Do  I  not  always  behave  in  public  as  the  wife 
who  respects  in  him  the  ruler  of  the  family?  "  Hy- 
pocrisy! "  you'll  cry.  In  the  first  place,  the  advice  I 
think  it  well  to  give  him,  my  opinions,  my  ideas,  are 
never  offered  except  in  the  silence  and  retirement  of 
our  own  bed-chamber.  But  I  can  swear  to  you,  my 
dearest,  that  even  then  I  never  affect  any  superiority 
over  him.  If  I  did  not  continue  to  be  his  wife  in  secret 
just  as  I  am  in  public,  he  would  have  no  confidence 
in  himself.  My  dear,  the  perfection  of  beneficence  is 
so  thoroughly  to  efface  one's  self  that  the  person  on 
whom  the  benefit  is  conferred  does  not  feel  himself 
inferior  to  the  person  who  confers  it,  and  this  self-sup- 
pression is  full  of  endless  sweetness.  Thus,  my  chief 
glory  has  been  that  I  deceived  even  you — for  you  have 
paid  me  compliments  about  Louis.  And  indeed,  pros- 
perity, happiness,  and  hope,  have  helped  him,  in  these 
two  years,  to  recover  everything  of  which  misery, 
suffering,  loneliness,  and  doubt,  had  robbed  him.  At 
present,  then,  according  to  what  I  have  observed,  you 
seem  to  me  to  love  Felipe  for  your  own  sake,  and  not 
for  his.  There  is  truth  in  what  your  father  said  to 
you.  The  selfishness  of  the  great  lady  is  but  masked 

236 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

by  the  blossoms  of  your  early  loves.  Ah,  child!  if 
you  were  not  so  very  dear  to  me,  I  could  not  tell  you 
such  cruel  truths.  Let  me  relate  the  close  of  one  of 
our  conversations,  on  condition  that  you  never 
breathe  a  word  of  it  to  the  Baron.  We  had  been  sing- 
ing your  praises  in  every  key,  for  he  saw,  of  course, 
that  I  loved  you  as  a  beloved  sister,  and  after  having 
led  him  on  to  confide  in  me  unconsciously,  I  said  to 
him: 

"  Louise  has  never  yet  had  to  struggle  with  life. 
Fate  has  treated  her  like  a  spoilt  child,  and  perhaps 
she  might  grow  unhappy,  if  you  did  not  know  how  to 
be  a  father  to  her  as  well  as  a  lover." 

"  Ah!  am  I  capable  of  that?  "  he  said. 

He  stopped  short,  like  a  man  who  sees  the  chasm 
into  which  he  is  about  to  slip.  That  exclamation  was 
enough  for  me.  If  you  had  not  departed,  he  would 
have  told  me  more  before  many  days  were  out. 

My  dearest,  when  that  man's  strength  is  worn  out, 
when  enjoyment  has  brought  satiety,  when  he  begins 
to  feel — I  will  not  say  degraded,  but  void  of  dignity, 
in  your  sight — the  reproach  of  his  own  conscience 
will  cause  him  a  sort  of  remorse,  which  will  wound 
you,  inasmuch  as  you  will  feel  that  you  yourself  are 
guilty.  And  you  will  end  by  despising  the  husband 
whom  you  have  not  given  yourself  the  habit  of  re- 
specting. Remember  this,  scorn  is  the  first  shape  a 
woman's  hatred  takes.  Because  you  are  a  noble- 
hearted  woman,  you  will  never  forget  the  sacrifices 
Felipe  has  made  for  you.  But  there  will  be  none  left 

237 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

for  him  to  make,  once  he  has  offered  himself  up,  as 
it  were,  at  this  first  banquet,  and  the  man,  like  the 
woman,  from  whom  nothing  more  is  to  be  hoped,  is 
doomed  to  misery.  Now  I  have  said  my  say. 
Whether  it  be  our  glory  or  our  shame,  I  know  not, 
that  is  too  delicate  a  point  for  me  to  settle,  but  the 
fact  remains — it  is  only  with  regard  to  the  man  who 
loves  her  that  a  woman  is  exacting. 

Oh,  Louise,  change  all  this — there  is  still  time! 
If  you  will  treat  Macumer  as  I  treat  1'Estorade,  you 
will  yet  rouse  the  sleeping  lion  in  a  truly  noble-hearted 
man.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  you  desired,  at  present,  to 
avenge  yourself  for  his  superior  excellence.  But 
would  you  not  be  proud  to  use  your  power  otherwise 
than  for  your  own  profit — to  turn  a  great  man  into  a 
man  of  genius,  just  as  I  am  making  a  superior  man 
out  of  an  ordinary  individual? 

Even  if  you  had  stayed  with  me  here  in  the  coun- 
try, I  should  still  have  written  you  this  letter.  I 
should  have  been  afraid  of  your  petulance  and  your 
wit,  if  we  had  talked  the  thing  out  together,  whereas 
I  know  that  when  you  read  what  I  have  written,  you 
will  consider  your  own  future.  Dear  soul,  you  have 
every  element  of  happiness;  don't  spoil  it  all.  And 
pray  get  back  to  Paris  early  in  November.  The  whirl 
and  absorbing  interest  of  society,  of  which  I  once 
complained,  are  necessary  diversions  in  your  exist- 
ence, the  intimacy  of  which  is  perhaps  almost  too 
close.  A  married  woman  should  have  a  coquetry  of 
her  own.  The  mother  of  a  family  who  does  not  make 

238 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

her  presence  longed  for  by  occasional  disappearances 
from  the  bosom  of  her  household,  runs  great  risk  of 
engendering  satiety  within  it.  If,  as  I  devoutly  hope 
for  my  own  happiness,  I  have  several  children,  I  sol- 
emnly assure  you  that  as  soon  as  they  have  reached 
a  certain  age,  I  shall  keep  fixed  hours  entirely  to  my- 
self. For  we  must  see  to  it  that  our  company  is 
sought  by  every  one,  even  by  our  own  children.  Fare- 
well, dear  jealous  creature!  Do  you  know  that  a 
vulgar-minded  woman  would  have  been  flattered  at 
the  thought  that  she  had  stirred  that  jealous  feeling 
in  you.  But  it  is  nothing  but  a  grief  to  me,  for  I 
have  no  feelings  in  my  heart,  save  those  of  a  mother, 
and  of  the  truest  friend.  A  thousand  loves  I  send 
you.  Say  whatever  you  choose  to  account  for  your 
departure.  If  you  are  not  certain  of  Felipe,  I  am  quite 
certain  of  Louis. 


239 


XXXVII 

FROM  THE  BARONNE  DE  MACUMER  TO  THE  VICOMTESSB 
DE  L'ESTORADE 

GENOA. 

MY  DEAR  LOVE:  The  fancy  took  me  to  see  some- 
thing of  Italy,  and  I  am  delighted  at  having  carried  off 
Macumer,  whose  plans  about  Sardinia  are  put  aside 
for  a  time. 

This  country  enchants  and  delights  me.  The 
churches,  and  above  all  the  chapels,  have  an  amorous 
and  enticing  look,  which  must  make  a  Protestant 
long  to  turn  Catholic.  Attentions  have  been  lavished 
on  Macumer,  and  the  King  is  delighted  at  having  ac- 
quired such  a  subject.  If  he  wishes  it,  Felipe  might 
have  the  Sardinian  embassy  to  Paris,  for  I  am  in  high 
favour  at  Court.  If  you  write  to  me,  address  your 
letter  to  Florence.  I  really  have  not  time  to  write  to 
you  fully;  I  will  tell  you  all  about  my  journey  the  next 
time  you  come  to  Paris.  We  shall  only  stay  here  a 
week,  then  we  go  on  to  Florence  by  Leghorn,  we 
shall  spend  a  month  in  Tuscany,  and  another  at 
Naples,  so  as  to  be  at  Rome  in  November.  We  shall 
return  by  Venice,  where  we  shall  be  for  the  first  fort- 
night in  December,  and  then  we  shall  get  back  to 
Paris  by  Milan  and  Turin,  for  the  month  of  January. 

240 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

This  is  a  real  lovers'  journey;  the  new  scenes  through 
which  we  pass  renew  all  our  dear  delights.  Macu- 
mer  had  never  seen  Italy,  and  we  began  by  that  mag- 
nificent Corniche  Road,  which  seems  as  if  it  had 
been  built  by  fairies.  Farewell,  my  darling!  don't  be 
angry  with  me  for  not  writing.  I  cannot  snatch  a 
moment  to  myself  while  I  am  travelling — all  my  time 
is  taken  up  in  seeing  and  feeling,  and  enjoying  my  im- 
pressions. But  I  will  wait  till  memory  has  coloured 
them  before  describing  them  to  you. 


XXXVIII 

FROM   THE   VICOMTESSE   DE   I/ESTORADE   TO   THE 
BARONNE  DE  MACUMER 

September. 

MY  DEAR:  A  somewhat  lengthy  answer  to  the 
letter  you  wrote  me  from  Marseilles  is  now  lying 
at  Chantepleurs.  This  lovers'  journey  of  yours  is 
so  far  from  removing  the  fears  therein  expressed, 
that  I  beg  you'll  write  and  have  my  letter  sent 
after  you. 

We  hear  the  Ministry  has  decided  on  a  dissolution. 
This  is  a  misfortune  for  the  Crown,  which  was  to  have 
employed  the  last  session  of  this  loyal  legislature  in 
passing  laws  which  were  indispensable  to  the  consoli- 
dation of  its  power.  But  it  is  one  for  us  as  well,  for 
Louis  will  not  be  forty  until  the  end  of  1827.  Luckily, 
my  father,  who  has  agreed  to  accept  election,  will  re- 
sign at  a  convenient  moment. 

Your  godson  has  taken  his  first  steps  without  his 
godmother's  help.  He  is  really  magnificent,  and  he  is 
beginning  to  make  me  little  graceful  gestures,  which 
assure  me  he  is  no  longer  a  mere  thirsty  being,  and 
an  animal  existence,  but  a  living  soul.  There  is  mean- 
ing even  in  his  smiles.  I  have  been  so  successful  as  a 

242 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

nurse  that  I  shall  wean  our  Armand  in  December. 
One  year  of  nursing  is  enough — "  Children  who  are 
nursed  too  long  turn  into  fools."  I  have  great  faith 
in  these  popular  proverbs.  You  must  be  desperately 
admired  in  Italy,  my  fair-haired  beauty!  A  thousand 
loves  to  you! 


243  Vol.  a 


XXXIX 

FROM  THE  BARONNE  DE  MACUMER  TO  THE  VICOMTESSE 

DE  L'ESTORADE 

ROME,  December, 

I  HAVE  your  wicked  letter,  which  I  desired  my 
steward  to  send  me  from  Chantepleurs.  Oh,  Renee! 
.  .  .  but  I  spare  you  all  the  reproaches  my  indigna- 
tion might  suggest.  I  will  only  recount  the  effect 
your  letter  has  produced.  When  we  came  back  from 
the  beautiful  party  the  Ambassador  had  given  for  us, 
at  which  I  had  shone  in  all  my  glory,  and  whence  Ma- 
cumer  had  returned  in  an  intoxication  of  adoration 
which  I  cannot  describe  to  you,  I  read  that  horrible 
answer  of  yours  to  him — read  it  to  him,  weeping — 
though  I  risked  seeming  ugly  in  his  eyes.  My  dear 
Abencerrage  fell  at  my  feet,  and  vowed  you  were  talk- 
ing twaddle;  he  drew  me  on  to  the  balcony  of  the  pal- 
ace in  which  we  are  living,  and  which  looks  out  over 
part  of  Rome,  and  his  language  was  worthy  of  the 
scene  spread  out  before  our  eyes — for  it  was  a  mag- 
nificent moonlight  night.  We  have  learnt  Italian  al- 
ready, and  his  love,  expressed  in  that  soft  language,  so 
appropriate  to  the  passion,  seemed  to  me  utterly  sub- 
lime. He  told  me  that,  even  if  you  were  a  true 

244 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

prophet,  he  preferred  a  single  night  of  happiness,  or 
one  of  our  exquisite  mornings,  to  the  whole  of  an  ordi- 
nary life.  Reckoning  thus,  he  had  lived  a  thousand 
years  already.  He  desired  I  should  remain  his  mis- 
tress, and  sought  no  other  title  than  that  of  my  lover. 
So  proud  and  happy  is  he,  to  see  himself  daily  pre- 
ferred above  all  others,  that  if  God  were  to  appear  be- 
fore him  and  to  give  him  his  choice  between  living  an- 
other thirty  years  under  your  rules,  and  having  five 
children,  or  only  living  five,  with  a  continuance  of  all 
our  dear  and  beautiful  delights,  he  would  make  his 
choice — he  would  rather  be  loved  as  I  love  him,  and 
then  die.  These  ardent  vows,  which  he  whispered  in 
my  ear,  my  head  resting  on  his  shoulder,  his  arm  about 
my  waist,  were  suddenly  disturbed  by  the  scream  of 
a  bat  overtaken  by  some  owl.  This  death-cry  affected 
me  so  painfully,  that  Felipe  carried  me  half  fainting  to 
my  bed.  But  calm  your  fears!  Although  the  portent 
re-echoed  through  my  soul,  I  am  quite  well  this  morn- 
ing. When  I  left  my  bed,  I  knelt  down  before  Felipe, 
and  with  his  eyes  on  mine,  and  my  hands  clasping 
his,  I  said: 

"  My  dearest,  I  am  a  foolish  child,  and  Renee  may 
be  right.  Perhaps  the  only  thing  I  love  in  you  is  love. 
But  be  sure,  at  all  events,  that  there  is  no  other  feeling 
in  my  heart,  and  that  I  love  you  after  my  own  fashion. 
And  if  in  my  ways,  in  the  smallest  matters  of  my  life 
and  being,  there  is  anything  at  all  contrary  to  what 
you  have  desired  or  hoped  of  me,  tell  me,  make  it 
known  to  me.  It  will  be  my  happiness  to  listen  to 

245 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

you,  and  to  be  guided  solely  by  the  light  of  your  eyes. 
Renee  loves  me  so  much  that  she  terrifies  me." 

Macumer  could  find  no  voice  to  answer  me;  he 
was  in  tears.  And  now,  my  Renee,  J  thank  you.  I 
did  not  know  how  much  my  beautiful,  my  kingly  Ma- 
cumer does  love  me.  Rome  is  the  city  of  love.  Those 
who  have  a  passion  should  come  here  to  enjoy  it — the 
arts  and  Heaven  will  be  their  accomplices.  We  are 
to  meet  the  Duque  and  Duquesa  de  Soria  at  Venice. 
If  you  write  to  me  again,  direct  to  Paris,  for  we  leave 
Rome  within  three  days.  The  Ambassador's  party 
was  to  bid  us  farewell. 

P.  S. — Silly  darling,  your  letter  is  a  clear  proof  that 
your  sole  acquaintance  with  love  is  theoretical.  Let 
me  tell  you  that  love  is  a  principle  so  various  and  dis- 
similar in  its  effects,  that  no  theory  can  possibly  em- 
brace or  govern  them.  This  for  my  little  doctor  in 
petticoats. 


246 


XL 


January,  1827. 

MY  father  returned  to  Parliament.  My  father-in- 
law  is  dead,  and  I  am  on  the  brink  of  my  second  con- 
finement. These  are  the  chief  events  of  the  close  of 
this  year.  I  mention  them  at  once,  so  that  the  black 
seal  upon  my  letter  may  not  alarm  you  long. 

My  darling,  your  letter  from  Rome  made  me 
shudder.  You  are  a  pair  of  children.  Either  Felipe 
is  a  diplomat,  who  has  deceived  you,  or  a  man  who 
loves  you  as  he  would  love  a  courtesan,  to  whom  he 
would  make  over  his  whole  fortune  even  though  he 
knew  her  to  be  playing  him  false.  But  enough  of  all 
this.  You  think  what  I  say  is  twaddle;  I  will  hold  my 
peace.  But  let  me  tell  you  that  when  I  consider  your 
fate  and  my  own,  the  moral  I  draw  is  a  cruel  one.  "  If 
you  desire  to  be  loved,  you  must  not  fall  in  love  your- 
self." 

Louis  received  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honour 
when  he  was  appointed  to  the  Conseil  General.  Now 
he  has  been  on  the  Conseil  for  three  years,  and  as  my 
father,  whom  you  will  no  doubt  see  in  Paris,  in  the 

247 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

course  of  the  session,  has  applied  to  have  his  son-in- 
law  promoted  to  the  rank  of  Officer,  I  will  ask  you 
to  be  so  kind  as  to  turn  your  attention  to  the  func- 
tionary on  whom  the  promotion  depends,  and  see 
after  this  little  business  for  me.  And  above  all  things, 
don't  mix  yourself  up  in  the  affairs  of  my  much- 
revered  father,  the  Comte  de  Maucombe,  who  wants 
a  Marquisate  for  himself.  Keep  all  your  interest  for 
me.  When  Louis  is  a  Deputy — that  will  be  next 
winter — we  shall  go  to  Paris,  and  we  shall  move 
heaven  and  earth  to  get  him  appointed  to  some  per- 
manent board,  so  that  we  may  put  away  all  our  own 
income  and  live  on  his  salary.  My  father  sits  between 
the  Centre  and  the  Right.  He  doesn't  ask  for  any- 
thing except  a  title.  Our  family  was  famous  in  the 
days  of  King  Renee — King  Charles  X  will  never  re- 
fuse the  request  of  a  Maucombe.  But  I'm  afraid  my 
father  may  take  it  into  his  head  to  solicit  some  favour 
for  my  second  brother,  and  if  he  has  a  little  trouble  in 
getting  his  Marquisate,  he  will  not  be  able  to  think 
about  anything  but  himself. 

January  ijth. 

Ah,  Louise,  I've  been  in  hell!  The  only  reason  I 
dare  to  speak  of  what  I  have  suffered  to  you  is  that 
you  are  my  second  self.  And  even  so,  I  do  not  know 
whether  I  can  ever  let  my  thoughts  go  back  to  those 
five  hideous  days.  Even  the  word  "  convulsions  " 
sends  a  shudder  to  my  very  soul.  Not  five  days,  but 
five  centuries,  of  torture  have  I  endured!  Until  a 
mother  has  gone  through  that  martyrdom,  she  will 

248 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

never  know  what  suffering  really  means.  You'll  judge 
of  my  distraction  when  I  tell  you  I  have  called  you 
happy,  because  you  have  no  child! 

The  evening  before  the  dreadful  day,  the  weath- 
er, which  had  been  heavy  and  almost  hot,  seemed  to 
me  to  be  disagreeing  with  my  little  Armand.  He 
was  peevish,  quite  unlike  his  usual  sweet  and  coaxing 
self.  He  screamed  about  everything.  He  tried  to 
play,  and  broke  his  toys.  Perhaps  this  disturbance  of 
the  temper  is  always  the  precursor  of  illness  in  young 
children.  My  attention  having  been  attracted  by  his 
unusual  naughtiness,  I  noticed  he  had  alternate  fits 
of  flushing  and  pallor,  which  I  ascribed  to  the  fact 
that  he  was  cutting  four  large  teeth  at  once.  So  I 
had  him  to  sleep  close  by  me,  and  kept  waking  up  to 
look  at  him.  He  was  a  little  feverish  in  the  night, 
but  this  did  not  alarm  me  in  the  least.  I  still  thought 
it  all  came  from  his  teeth.  Towards  morning  he 
called  "  Mamma,"  and  made  me  a  sign  that  he  was 
thirsty.  But  there  was  a  shrillness  in  his  voice,  and 
something  convulsive  about  his  gesture,  that  froze 
my  blood.  I  jumped  out  of  bed  to  get  him  some 
water.  Conceive  my  terror  when  I  brought  him  the 
cup  and  found  he  didn't  move.  Only  he  kept  saying 
"  Mamma  "  in  that  voice  that  wasn't  his  voice — that 
wasn't  even  a  voice  at  all.  I  took  his  hand,  but  it 
didn't  answer  to  mine,  it  stiffened.  I  put  the  glass 
to  his  lips.  The  poor  little  fellow  drank,  but  in  the 
most  alarming  manner,  taking  three  or  four  convul- 
sive gulps,  and  the  water  made  a  queer  noise  in  his 

249 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

throat.  Suddenly  he  clutched  desperately  at  me.  I 
saw  his  eye-balls  turn,  drawn  up  by  some  internal 
pressure,  and  his  limbs  lost  all  their  flexibility.  I 
screamed  wildly.  Louis  came. 

"  A  doctor!  A  doctor!  "  I  shrieked,  "  he's  dying." 
Louis  was  off  like  a  flash,  and  my  poor  Armand 
clung  to  me  again,  crying  "  Mamma!  Mamma!"  In 
another  moment  he  was  quite  unconscious  that  he 
even  had  a  mother.  The  veins  on  his  pretty  forehead 
swelled  out,  and  the  convulsions  came  on.  For  an 
hour  before  the  doctors  came,  that  lively  child,  so 
pink  and  white,  that  blossom  which  had  lately  been 
my  pride  and  joy,  lay  in  my  arms  as  stiff  and  stark  as 
a  log  of  wood.  And  oh,  his  eyes !  the  very  thought  of 
them  makes  me  shudder.  Black  and  shrivelled,  drawn 
and  dumb,  my  pretty  boy  was  like  nothing  but  a 
mummy.  First  one  doctor,  and  then  two,  fetched  by 
Louis  from  Marseilles,  stood  over  him,  like  birds  of 
evil  omen.  The  very  sight  of  them  made  me  shiver. 
One  said  it  was  a  brain  fever.  The  other  said  it  was  a 
case  of  infantile  convulsions.  Our  village  man  seemed 
to  me  the  most  sensible,  for  he  didn't  prescribe  any- 
thing. "His  teeth,"  said  the  second;  "fever,"  said 
the  first.  At  last  they  agreed  to  put  leeches  on  his 
neck,  and  ice  upon  his  head.  I  thought  I  should  have 
died.  To  sit  there  and  gaze  at  a  bluish-blackish 
corpse,  that  never  moved  or  spoke,  in  place  of  that 
gay,  lively  little  creature!  At  one  moment  I  quite 
lost  my  head,  and  a  sort  of  nervous  laughter  seized 
me  when  I  saw  the  leeches  fasten  on  the  pretty  neck  I 

250 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

had  so  often  kissed,  and  the  darling  head  under  an  ice- 
cap. My  dear,  we  had  to  cut  off  the  pretty  hair  we 
used  to  admire  so  much,  and  that  you  had  fondled,  so 
as  to  apply  the  ice.  The  convulsions  returned  every 
ten  minutes,  just  like  the  pains  with  which  I  bore  him, 
and  the  poor  little  fellow  struggled  afresh,  some- 
times deadly  pale,  and  then  again  purple  in  the  face. 
Whenever  his  limbs,  generally  so  flexible,  touched 
each  other,  they  gave  out  a  sort  of  wooden  sound. 
And  that  senseless  creature  had  once  smiled  to  me, 
and  kissed  me,  and  called  me  "  Mother."  A  flood  of 
agony  surged  over  my  soul  at  the  thought,  tossing  it 
even  as  tempests  toss  the  sea,  and  I  felt  a  wrench  at 
every  cord  that  binds  the  child  to  the  mother's  heart. 
My  own  mother,  who  might  have  helped,  advised,  or 
consoled  me,  is  in  Paris.  Mothers  understand  more 
about  convulsions,  I  think,  than  any  doctor.  After 
four  days  and  nights  of  ups  and  downs,  and  terrors, 
which  almost  killed  me,  the  doctors  all  decided  it 
would  be  better  to  apply  some  horrible  ointment  to 
blister  the  skin.  Oh,  sores  on  my  Armand,  who  had 
been  playing  about  only  five  days  before,  and  laugh- 
ing, and  trying  to  say  "Godmother!"  I  objected, 
and  said  I  would  trust  to  Nature.  Louis  scolded  me, 
he  believed  the  doctors — men  are  all  alike.  But  at 
certain  moments  dreadful  maladies  like  these  take  the 
form  of  death  itself,  and  at  one  of  these  moments  the 
remedy,  the  very  thought  of  which  had  been  an  abom- 
ination in  my  sight,  seemed  to  promise  me  Armand's 
salvation.  My  dearest  Louise,  his  skin  was  so  dry, 

251 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

so  hard,  so  burnt  up,  that  the  ointment  took  no  effect. 
Then  I  began  to  cry,  and  I  wept  so  long  over  his  bed 
that  the  pillow  was  all  soaked.  As  for  the  doctors, 
they  were  at  their  dinner.  Seeing  I  was  alone  I 
stripped  all  the  medical  appliances  off  my  boy.  Half 
wild  as  I  was,  I  took  him  up  into  my  arms,  I  strained 
him  to  my  breast,  I  pressed  my  forehead  to  his,  and 
I  prayed  to  God  to  give"  him  my  own  life  which  I 
strove  to  breathe  into  him.  I  had  been  holding  him 
thus  for  several  minutes,  longing  to  die  with  him,  so 
that  neither  death  nor  life  might  part  us.  My  dear,  I 
felt  his  limbs  relax,  the  convulsions  passed  off,  the 
child  moved,  the  dreadful,  hideous  colour  changed,  I 
screamed,  as  I  had  screamed  when  he  first  fell  ill.  The 
doctors  ran  upstairs.  I  showed  them  my  boy. 

"  He's  saved!  "  cried  the  elder  of  the  two. 

Oh,  those  words!  what  music  there  was  in  them! 
Heaven  opened  to  my  sight.  And  indeed,  two  hours 
later,  Armand  was  a  new  creature.  But  as  for  me,  I 
was  broken  down,  and  nothing  but  the  elixir  of  hap- 
piness saved  me  from  being  very  ill.  O  my  God! 
by  what  anguish  dost  thou  bind  the  mother  to  her 
child!  What  nails  thou  drivest  into  her  heart  to  hold 
him  safely  there!  Was  not  maternal  love  passionate 
enough  already  in  me,  who  wept  with  joy  over  my 
boy's  first  lispings  and  his  baby-step,  who  watch  him 
for  hours  together,  so  that  I  may  do  my  duty  well, 
and  learn  all  the  sweet  business  of  a  mother's  life? 
Were  all  these  terrors  and  these  frightful  sights 
needful  for  a  woman  who  has  made  her  child  her  idol 3 

252 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

As  I  sit  writing  to  you,  Armand  is  playing  about, 
shouting  and  laughing.  Then  I  ponder  the  causes  of 
this  horrible  complaint,  remembering  that  I  am  about 
to  bear  another  child.  Is  it  the  result  of  teething? 
Is  it  caused  by  some  particular  condition  of  the  brain? 
Is  there  something  faulty  in  the  nervous  system  of 
children  who  suffer  from  convulsions?  All  these 
ideas  alarm  me,  as  much  for  the  present  as  for  the 
future.  Our  country  doctor  declares  it  is  a  nerv- 
ous excitement  caused  by  teething.  I  would  give  all 
my  teeth  to  know  those  of  our  little  Armand  safely 
through.  Every  time  I  see  one  of  those  little  white 
pearls  peeping  through  the  middle  of  his  hot  red  gum, 
I  feel  a  cold  perspiration  break  out  all  over  me.  The 
heroic  manner  in  which  the  poor  little  angel  bears  his 
sufferings  shows  me  his  nature  will  be  just  like  mine; 
he  cast  the  most  heart-rending  glances  at  me.  Medi- 
cal science  knows  very  little  of  the  causes  of  this 
species  of  tetanus,  which  disappears  as  swiftly  as  it 
comes,  and  can  neither  be  foreseen  nor  cured.  I  tell 
you  again,  one  thing  alone  is  certain — that  to  see  her 
child  in  convulsions  is  hell  to  any  mother.  How  furi- 
ously I  kiss  him  now!  How  long  and  closely  I  hold 
him  when  I  carry  him  about!  To  have  to  endure  such 
anguish  when  I  am  to  be  confined  again  within  six 
weeks  was  a  hideous  aggravation  of  my  martyrdom. 
I  was  terrified  for  the  other  child.  Farewell,  my  dear 
and  much  loved  Louise!  Don't  wish  for  children!— 
that  is  my  last  word  to  you! 


253 


XLI 

FROM  THE  BARONNE  DE  MACUMER  TO  THE  COMTESS3 
DE  L'ESTORADE 

PARIS. 

POOR  DARLING:  We  forgave  your  horridness, 
Macumer  and  I,  when  we  heard  how  dreadfully  you 
had  been  tried.  I  shuddered,  and  it  was  anguish  to 
me  to  read  the  details  of  that  double  torture.  I  am 
less  unhappy  now  at  having  no  child.  I  lose  no  time 
in  telling  you  that  Louis  is  appointed  Officer  of  the 
Legion  of  Honour,  and  may  forthwith  sport  his  ro- 
sette. You  wish  for  a  little  girl,  and  you  will  prob- 
ably have  one,  lucky  Renee!  My  brother's  marriage 
with  Mile,  de  Mortsauf  took  place  on  our  return. 
Our  dear  King,  who  really  is  most  exquisitely  kind, 
has  granted  my  brother  the  succession  to  the  post  ol 
First  Lord  of  the  Bedchamber,  which  his  father-in- 
law  now  holds. 

"  The  office  must  go  with  the  title,"  said  he  to  the 
Due  de  Lenoncourt-Givry.  The  only  thing  he  has 
insisted  on  is  that  the  Mortsauf  escutcheon  should  be 
impaled  with  that  ol  the  Lenoncourt. 

My  father  was  right,  a  hundred  times  over.  But 
for  my  fortune,  none  of  these  things  could  have  taken 

254 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

place.  My  father  and  mother  came  from  Madrid  for 
the  wedding,  and  are  going  back  there  after  the  party, 
which  I  am  giving  for  the  young  couple  to-morrow. 
The  carnival  will  be  very  gay.  The  Duque  and 
Duquesa  de  Soria  are  in  Paris.  Their  presence  here 
disturbs  me  a  little.  Maria  Heredia  is  certainly  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  women  in  Europe,  and  I  don't 
like  the  way  in  which  Felipe  looks  at  her.  So  I  have 
redoubled  my  love  and  tenderness.  "She  would 
never  have  loved  you  as  I  do,"  is  a  sentence  I  take 
good  care  not  to  utter,  but  it  is  written  on  all  my 
looks  and  in  everything  I  do.  Never  was  coquette 
more  elegant  than  I.  Yesterday  Mme.  de  Maufrig- 
neuse  said  to  me,  "  Dear  child,  we  must  all  lay  down 
our  arms  to  you !  " 

And  then  I  amuse  Felipe  so  much  that  he  must 
think  his  sister-in-law  as  stupid  as  a  Spanish  cow.  I 
am  all  the  more  consoled  at  not  being  the  mother  of 
a  little  Abencerrage,  because  the  Duchesse  will  most 
probably  be  confined  in  Paris,  and  so  she'll  grow  ugly. 
If  she  has  a  son  it  is  to  be  called  Felipe,  in  honour  of 
the  exile — and  spiteful  Chance  will  make  me  a  god- 
mother once  more.  Farewell,  my  dearest!  I  shall  go 
to  Chantepleurs  early  this  year,  for  our  journey  has  cost 
something  outrageous.  I  shall  depart  towards  the  end 
of  March,  so  as  to  economize  by  living  in  the  Niver- 
nais.  And  besides,  Paris  bores  me,  and  Felipe  sighs 
as  much  as  I  do  for  the  delightful  solitude  of  our  park, 
for  our  cool  meadows,  and  our  Loire,  with  its  shim- 
mering sands,  so  different  from  any  other  river  in  the 

255 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

world.  Chantepleurs  seems  delightful,  after  all  the 
pomps  and  vanities  of  Italy;  for,  after  all,  magnifi- 
cence is  wearisome,  and  one  lover's  glance  is  better 
than  any  Capo  d'Opera  or  bel  quadro.  We  shall  ex- 
pect you  there.  I  won't  be  jealous  of  you  any  more 
You  can  sound  my  Macumer's  heart,  just  as  you 
please.  You  can  fish  out  interjections,  and  wake  up 
scruples — I  make  him  over  to  you  with  the  most  su- 
perb confidence.  Since  that  scene  at  Rome,  Felipe 
loves  me  more  passionately  than  ever.  He  told  me 
yesterday  (he  is  looking  over  my  shoulder)  that  his 
sister-in-law,  the  Maria  of  his  youth,  his  former  fiancee, 
the  Princess  Heredia,  his  first  dream,  was  dull.  Ah, 
dear,  I'm  worse  than  any  opera-dancer — the  slander 
delighted  me.  I've  pointed  out  to  Felipe  that  she 
doesn't  speak  good  French — she  says  "  esemple  "  for 
"  exemple,"  "  sain  "  for  "  cinq,"  "  cheu  "  for  "  jeu." 
She  is  handsome,  indeed,  but  she  has  no  grace,  nor 
the  smallest  liveliness  of  intellect.  If  any  one  pays 
her  a  compliment,  she  stares  like  a  woman  who  has 
never  been  in  the  habit  of  hearing  such  things.  With 
Felipe's  nature,  he  would  have  left  her  before  he  had 
been  two  months  married  to  her.  She  suits  the 
Duque  de  Soria,  Don  Fernando,  very  well.  He  is  a 
generous-minded  man,  but  an  evident  spoilt  child.  I 
might  be  spiteful  and  set  you  laughing,  but  I  confine 
nyself  to  the  truth.  A  thousand  loves,  my  dearest 
one! 


256 


XLII 

FROM  RENE"E  TO  LOUISE 

MY  little  daughter  is  two  months  old.  My  moth- 
er stood  godmother  to  the  little  creature,  and  an  old 
great-uncle  of  Louis's  was  her  godfather.  Her  names 
are  Jeanne  Athenais. 

As  soon  as  I  can  get  away,  I  will  start  to  join 
you  at  Chantepleurs,  since  you  don't  object  to  having 
a  nursing  mother.  Your  godson  can  say  your  name 
now,  he  pronounces  it  Matoumer,  for  he  can't  say  his 
c's  properly.  You'll  dote  upon  him.  He  has  cut  all 
his  teeth,  he  eats  like  a  big  boy;  he  runs  and  trots 
about  like  a  weasel.  But  I  still  keep  an  anxious  eye 
on  him,  and  I  am  in  despair  at  not  being  able  to  have 
him  with  me  during  my  recovery,  which  necessitates 
my  keeping  my  room  for  more  than  two  months,  ow- 
ing to  certain  precautions  on  which  the  doctors  insist. 
Alas !  my  love,  custom  doesn't  make  child-bearing  any 
easier.  The  same  anguish  and  the  same  terrors  have 
to  be  faced  each  time.  Notwithstanding  that  (don't 
show  this  letter  to  Felipe)  this  little  daughter  has 
something  of  my  looks.  She  may  eclipse  your  Ar- 
mand  yet. 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

My  father  thought  Felipe  had  grown  thin,  and  my 
darling  looking  a  little  thinner  too.  Yet  the  Sorias 
have  left  Paris,  so  there  cannot  be  the  smallest  occa- 
sion for  jealousy  now.  Are  you  hiding  some  sorrow 
from  me?  Your  last  letter  was  neither  so  long  nor  so 
affectionate  in  thought  as  your  former  one.  Is  that 
only  one  of  my  whimsical  darling's  whims? 

I  have  written  too  much.  My  nurse  is  scolding  me 
for  having  written  at  all,  and  Mile.  Athenais  de  1'Es- 
torade  is  screaming  for  her  dinner.  Farewell,  then. 
jWnte  me  good  long  letters. 


258 


XLIII 

MME.  DE  MACUMER  TO  THE  COMTESSE  DE  I/ESTORADE 

FOR  the  first  time  in  my  life,  my  dearest  Renee,  I 
have  sat  crying  alone  on  a  wooden  bench  under  a 
willow  tree,  beside  my  lake  at  Chantepleurs — a  lovely, 
spot  to  which  you'll  soon  add  fresh  beauties,  for  the 
only  thing  lacking  to  it  is  merry  children's  voices. 

Thinking  of  your  fruitful  motherhood,  a  sudden 
revulsion  of  feeling  has  swept  over  me,  who  am  child- 
less still,  after  nearly  three  years  of  married  life. 
"  Oh,"  I  mused,  "  even  though  I  suffer  a  hundred 
times  more  cruelly  than  Renee  suffered  when  my  god- 
son was  born,  even  though  I  should  end  by  seeing  my 
child  in  convulsions,  grant,  O  my  God,  that  I  may 
bear  an  angel  baby  like  that  little  Athenais,  who,  I 
can  feel  it,  is  as  lovely  as  the  day."  For  you  didn't 
say  a  word  about  that,  it  was  just  like  you,  my  Renee! 
You  seem  to  have  guessed  I  am  unhappy.  Every 
time  my  hopes  are  disappointed,  I  spend  several  days 
in  the  blackest  melancholy.  So  there  I  sat  compos- 
ing gloomy  elegies.  When  shall  I  embroider  little 
caps  and  choose  fine  lawn  for  babies'  gowns?  When 
shall  1  sew  dainty  laces  to  cover  a  tiny  head?  Am  I 

259 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

never  to  hear  one  of  those  darling  creatures  call  me 
"  Mother,"  and  fe-el  it  pull  at  my  skirt  and  lord  it  over 
me?  Shall  I  never  see  the  marks  of  a  little  carriage 
upon  the  gravel  path?  Shall  I  never  pick  up  broken 
toys  in  my  court-yard?  Shall  I  never  go  to  the  toy- 
shop like  the  many  mothers  I  have  seen,  to  buy  swords 
and  dolls,  and  baby-houses?  Shall  I  never  watch  the 
growth  of  a  life  and  being  that  will  be  another  and  a 
dearer  Felipe?  I  want  a  son,  so  that  I  may  find  out 
how  a  woman  may  love  her  lover  better  than  ever  in 
his  other  self.  My  house  and  park  seem  cold  and  de- 
serted. Oh,  my  doctor  in  petticoats  that  you  are, 
your  view  of  life  is  true.  And  besides,  sterility  in  any 
form  is  a  horrible  thing.  My  life  is  rather  too  like 
that  in  Gessner's  and  Florian's  pastorals,  of  which 
Rivarol  used  to  say  that  "  one  was  driven  to  sigh  for 
wolves."  I,  as  well  as  you,  want  to  devote  myself  to 
others.  I  feel  I  have  powers  in  me  which  Felipe  over- 
looks, and  if  I  am  not  to  have  a  child,  I  shall  have  to 
treat  myself  to  a  misfortune  of  some  kind.  This  is 
what  I  have  just  been  saying  to  my  remnant  of  the 
Moors,  and  my  words  brought  tears  into  his  eyes. 
He  got  off  with  being  told  he  was  a  noble-hearted 
silly.  It  doesn't  do  to  jest  with  him  about  his  love. 
Now  and  then  I  long  to  go  and  say  Novenas,  to 
appeal  to  special  Madonnas,  or  try  special  waters.  I 
shall  certainly  consult  physicians  next  winter.  I  am 
too  furious  with  myself  to  say  more  about  it  to  you. 
•Farewell! 


260 


XLIV 

FROM  THE  SAME  TO  THE  SAME 

PARIS,  1829. 

How's  this,  my  dear?  A  whole  year  without  a 
letter  from  you.  ...  I  am  rather  hurt.  Do  you 
fancy  that  your  Louis,  who  comes  to  see  me  almost 
every  second  day,  can  fill  your  place?  It  isn't  enough 
for  me  to  know  that  you  are  not  ill,  and  that  your 
business  matters  are  doing  well.  I  want  to  know  your 
thoughts  and  feelings,  just  as  I  send  you  mine,  and 
risk  being  scolded  or  blamed,  or  misunderstood,  just 
because  I  love  you.  This  silence  of  yours,  and  your 
retirement  in  the  country,  when  you  might  be  here, 
enjoying  the  Comte  de  1'Estorade's  parliamentary  tri- 
umphs— his  constant  speeches  and  his  devotion  to 
his  duties  have  gained  him  considerable  influence,  and 
he'll  no  doubt  rise  to  a  very  high  position  when  the 
session  closes — cause  me  serious  alarm.  Do  you 
spend  your  whole  life  writing  him  instructions? 
Numa  was  not  so  widely  parted  from  his  Egeria.  Why 
haven't  you  seized  this  opportunity  of  seeing  Paris? 
I  should  have  had  your  company  for  four  whole 
months.  Yesterday  your  husband  informed  me  you 
were  coming  up  to  fetch  him,  and  that  your  third 

261 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

confinement  (indefatigable  parent)  was  to  take  place 
here.  After  endless  questions,  sighs,  and  groans, 
Louis,  diplomatic  though  he  is,  ended  by  telling  me 
that  his  great-uncle,  Athenais's  godfather,  is  in  a  very 
bad  way.  And  I  conclude  you  capable,  like  the  good 
mother  you  are,  of  turning  the  Deputy's  speeches  and 
his  fame  to  account,  to  coax  some  handsome  legacy 
out  of  your  husband's  sole  surviving  relative  on  his 
mother's  side.  Make  your  mind  easy,  my  Renee. 
The  Lenoncourts,  the  Chaulieus,  all  Mme.  de  Ma- 
cumer's  circle,  are  working  for  Louis.  There  is  no 
doubt  Martignac  will  send  him  to  the  Audit  Office. 
But  if  you  don't  tell  me  why  you  are  staying  on  in 
the  country,  I  shall  lose  my  temper.  Is  it  so  that 
nobody  may  suspect  you  of  guiding  the  whole  policy 
of  the  House  of  1'Estorade?  Is  it  because  of  the 
old  uncle's  will?  Are  you  afraid  you  may  be  a  less 
devoted  mother  in  Paris?  Oh,  how  I  should  like  to 
know  whether  it  is  that  you  don't  choose  to  make  your 
first  appearance  here  in  your  present  condition.  Is  it 
that,  you  vain  creature?  Good-bye. 


262 


XLV 
FROM  REN£E  TO  LOUISE 

You  complain  of  my  silence?  Why,  you  forget 
the  two  little  dark  heads  I  have  to  rule  and  which 
rule  over  me.  And,  indeed,  you  have  hit  on  some  of 
the  reasons  that  keep  me  at  home.  Apart  from  the 
state  of  the  old  great-uncle's  health,  I  did  not  care, 
in  my  present  condition,  to  drag  a  boy  of  four  and  a 
little  girl  of  nearly  three  up  to  Paris;  I  wouldn't  com- 
plicate your  existence  and  burden  your  house  with 
such  a  party.  I  don't  care  to  appear  at  a  disadvantage 
in  the  brilliant  society  over  which  you  hold  sway;  and 
I  have  a  horror  both  of  furnished  lodgings  and  of 
hotel  life.  When  Louis's  great-uncle  heard  the  news 
of  his  great-nephew's  appointment,  he  made  me  a 
present  of  two  hundred  thousand  francs,  half  his  sav- 
ings, with  which  to  buy  a  house  in  Paris,  and  I  have 
commissioned  Louis  to  find  one,  in  your  neighbour- 
hood. My  mother  has  given  me  thirty  thousand 
francs  to  pay  for  the  furniture.  When  I  settle  in  Paris 
for  the  session,  I  shall  go  to  my  own  house,  and  I  shall 
try  to  be  worthy  of  my  dear  "  sister  by  election  " — 
I  say  it  without  any  intention  of  making  a  pun.  I  am 

263 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

grateful  to  you  for  having  obtained  so  much  favour 
for  Louis.  But  in  spite  of  the  esteem  in  which  he  is 
held  by  MM.  de  Bourmont  and  de  Polignac,  who  wish 
him  to  take  office  under  them,  I  do  not  care  to  see  him 
in  such  a  prominent  position.  That  is  far  too  compro- 
mising. I  prefer  the  Audit  Office  on  account  of  its 
being  a  permanency.  Our  business  here  will  be  in 
very  good  hands,  and  once  our  steward  has  thorough- 
ly mastered  his  work,  I  shall  come  and  support  Louis 
— you  may  be  quite  easy  about  that. 

As  for  writing  you  long  letters  at  present,  how  am 
I  to  do  it?  This  one,  in  which  I  should  like  to  give 
you  a  description  of  the  ordinary  tenor  of  one  of  my 
days,  will  have  to  lie  on  my  writing-table  for  a  week. 
It  may  be  turned  into  tents  for  Armand's  toy  sol- 
diers, set  out  in  rows  upon  my  floor,  or  into  ships 
for  the  navy  he  sails  upon  his  bath.  One  single  day's 
work  will  be  enough  for  you ;  and,  indeed,  my  days  are 
all  alike,  and  only  two  facts  affect  them — whether  the 
children  are  out  of  sorts,  or  well.  Literally,  in  this 
quiet  country-house,  the  hours  are  minutes,  or  the 
minutes  hours,  according  to  the  children's  state  of 
health.  My  few  exquisite  respites  are  when  they  are 
asleep,  when  I  am  not  rocking  one,  or  telling  stories 
to  the  other,  to  make  them  drowsy.  Once  I  feel  I 
have  them  both  sound  asleep  close  to  me,  I  say  to  my- 
self, "  Now  I  have  nothing  more  to  fear."  For  really, 
my  darling,  as  long  as  daylight  lasts,  a  mother  is  al- 
ways inventing  some  danger  the  moment  her  children 
are  out  of  her  sight.  I  think  Armand  is  trying  to  play 

264 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

with  stolen  razors,  I  fancy  his  jacket  has  caught  fire, 
that  he  has  been  bitten  by  a  blind-worm,  that  he  has 
tumbled  down  and  cut  his  head,  or  drowned  himself 
in  one  of  the  ponds.  Motherhood,  as  you  see,  gives 
birth  to  a  succession  of  poetic  fancies,  some  sweet, 
some  hideous.  Not  an  hour  but  brings  its  terrors  or 
its  joys.  But  alone  in  my  room,  at  night,  comes  the 
hour  of  my  waking  dreams,  when  I  plan  out  all  their 
future  life,  and  see  it  lighted  by  the  smiles  of  the  an- 
gels I  behold  hovering  above  their  pillows.  Some- 
times Armand  will  call  me  in  his  sleep.  Then  I  kiss 
his  unconscious  forehead,  and  his  little  sister's  feet, 
and  gaze  at  their  childish  beauty.  Those  instants 
are  my  festivals.  I'm  certain  it  was  our  guardian 
angel  who  inspired  me,  in  the  middle  of  last  night, 
to  run  in  a  fright  to  Athenais's  cradle,  where  I  found 
her  lying  with  her  head  much  too  low,  while  Armand 
had  kicked  all  his  coverings  off,  so  that  his  feet  were 
blue  with  cold. 

"  Oh,  mother  darling!  "  he  said,  as  he  woke  and 
kissed  me. 

There's  a  night  scene  for  you,  my  dear! 

How  necessary  it  is  for  a  mother  to  keep  her  chil- 
dren near  her!  Can  any  nurse,  however  good  she 
may  be,  take  them  up  and  comfort  them,  and  hush 
them  to  rest  again,  when  they  have  been  startled  out 
of  their  sleep  by  some  hideous  nightmare?  For  chil- 
dren have  their  dreams,  and  it  is  all  the  more  difficult 
to  explain  one  of  these  dreadful  dreams  to  them,  be- 
cause the  child  that  listens  to  his  mother  at  such  a 

265 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

moment,  is  drowsy,  scared,  shrewd  and  simple,  all  at 
once — an  organ  pause,  as  it  were,  between  his  two 
slumbers.  And  I  have  learnt  to  sleep  so  lightly  that  I 
see  my  two  little  ones  and  hear  them  through  my 
closed  eye-lids.  A  sigh,  even  a  turn  in  bed,  awakes 
me.  I  see  convulsions  perpetually  crouching  like  a 
cruel  monster  at  the  foot  of  their  couch. 

When  daylight  comes,  my  children  begin  to  chirp 
with  the  earliest  birds.  I  can  hear  them  through  my 
morning  sleep.  Their  chatter  is  like  the  twitter  of 
fighting  swallows,  merry  or  plaintive  little  chirpings, 
that  reach  me  more  through  my  heart  than  through 
my  ears.  While  Nais  does  her  best  to  get  to  me  by 
crawling  on  her  hands  and  knees,  or  toddling  from 
her  cot  to  my  bed,  Armand  climbs  up  to  kiss  me,  as 
nimble  as  a  monkey.  Then  the  two  little  creatures 
make  my  bed  into  their  playground,  on  which  their 
mother  is  at  their  mercy.  The  little  maid  pulls  my 
hair,  she  still  tries  to  find  my  breast,  and  Armand  de- 
fends it  as  if  it  were  his  private  property.  I  can  never 
resist  certain  attitudes,  and  the  peals  of  laughter  that 
go  off  like  rockets,  and  always  end  by  chasing  sleep 
away.  Then  we  play  at  ogres,  and  the  mother  ogress 
devours  the  soft  white  baby  skins,  and  kisses  the 
merry  roguish  eyes  and  tender  pink  shoulders,  till 
there  is  almost  nothing  left  of  them — and  this,  every 
now  and  then,  results  in  the  most  fascinating  fits  of 
childish  jealousy.  Some  days  I  take  up  my  stock- 
ing at  eight  o'clock,  and  when  nine  o'clock  strikes  I 
have  only  contrived  to  put  one  on. 

266 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

But  up  I  get  at  last,  and  dressing  begins.  I  put 
on  my  wrapper,  turn  up  my  sleeves,  tie  on  my  water- 
proof apron,  and  with  Mary's  help  I  give  my  two  little 
darlings  their  bath.  I  am  sole  judge  of  the  heat  or 
coolness  of  the  water — for  that  matter  of  the  tempera- 
ture of  the  bath  is  the  cause  of  half  the  screaming 
and  crying  among  children.  Then  out  come  the  pa- 
per boats  and  the  china  ducks.  The  children  must  be 
kept  amused  if  they  are  to  be  properly  washed.  If 
you  only  knew  what  games  have  to  be  invented  to 
please  these  absolute  monarchs,  if  one  is  to  get  one's 
soft  sponge  over  every  corner  of  their  small  persons! 
You  would  be  quite  startled  by  the  amount  of  clever- 
ness and  cunning  a  mother  must  employ  if  she  is  to 
carry  her  work  to  a  glorious  conclusion.  Supplica- 
tion, scoldings,  promises,  she  needs  them  all,  and  her 
knavery  grows  all  the  more  skilful  because  it  must 
be  so  cunningly  concealed.  I  don't  know  what  would 
happen  if  God  had  not  given  the  mother  shrewdness 
to  outwit  the  child's.  A  child  is  a  wily  politician,  and 
he  must  be  mastered,  just  like  your  great  politician — 
through  his  passions.  Fortunately,  everything  makes 
the  little  angels  laugh.  Whenever  a  brush  tumbles 
down,  or  a  cake  of  soap  slips  away,  there  are  shrieks 
of  delight.  Well  if  all  these  triumphs  are  dearly 
bought,  at  all  events  they  do  exist.  But  God  alone 
— for  the  father  himself  knows  nothing  of  it — God 
alone,  or  the  angels,  or  you  yourself,  can  understand 
the  glances  I  exchange  with  Mary  when  the  two  little 
creatures  are  dressed,  and  we  see  them  all  neat  and 

267    J4  Vol.  2 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

clean  amid  the  soap,  and  sponges,  and  combs,  and 
basins,  and  flannels,  and  all  the  thousand  impedimenta 
of  an  English  nursery.  I  have  grown  quite  English 
on  this  point.  I  acknowledge  that  English  women 
have  a  genius  for  bringing  up  children.  Although 
they  only  consider  the  child's  material  and  physical 
comfort,  there  is  sense  in  all  the  improvements  they 
have  introduced.  Therefore  my  children  shall  always 
have  warm  feet  and  bare  legs,  they  shall  never  be 
tightened  or  compressed — but  then  again  they  shall 
never  be  left  alone.  The  French  child's  bondage  in  his 
swaddling-clothes  means  the  freedom  of  his  nurse,  and 
that  explains  it  all.  No  good  mother  can  be  free,  and 
that  is  why  I  don't  write  to  you — for  I  have  to  manage 
this  place,  and  to  bring  up  two  children.  The  science 
of  motherhood  involves  much  silent  well-doing,  un- 
seen and  unpretending,  much  virtue  applied  to  small 
things,  a  fund  of  never-failing  devotion.  Even  the 
broths  that  are  being  made  at  the  fire  must  be  watched 
— why,  you  don't  think  I  would  shuffle  out  of  any  of 
these  little  cares?  The  least  of  them  brings  in  its 
own  harvest  of  affection.  Oh,  how  good  it  is  to  see 
a  child  smile  when  he  likes  his  dinner!  Armand  has  a 
way  of  wagging  his  little  head,  which  is  better  than  a 
whole  passion  of  love  to  me.  How  I  can  allow  an- 
other woman  the  right,  the  care,  the  pleasure,  of 
blowing  on  a  spoonful  of  soup  which  is  too  hot  for 
Nais,  whom  I  only  weaned  seven  months  ago,  and 
who  still  remembers  her  mother's  breast?  When  a 
nurse  has  burnt  a  child's  tongue  and  lips,  by  giving 

268 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

it  something  too  hot,  she  just  tells  the  mother  it  is 
crying  because  it  is  hungry.  But  how  can  any  mother 
sleep  in  peace  when  she  thinks  that  an  impure  breath 
may  have  passed  over  the  food  her  child  swallows, 
and  remembers  that  Nature  does  not  permit  of  any  in- 
terposition between  her  own  breast  and  her  nursling's 
lips?  It  is  a  work  of  patience  to  cut  up  a  cutlet  for 
Nais,  whose  last  teeth  are  just  coming  through,  and  to 
mix  up  the  carefully  cooked  meat  with  potatoes,  and 
really,  in  certain  cases,  no  one  but  a  mother  knows 
how  to  make  an  impatient  child  eat  up  the  whole  of 
its  food.  Therefore  no  mother,  even  though  she 
have  a  numerous  household  and  an  English  nurse, 
can  be  excused  from  taking  her  personal  share  of  duty 
on  this  battlefield,  where  gentleness  must  wage  war 
against  the  little  griefs  and  sufferings  of  childhood. 
Why,  Louise,  one's  whole  heart  must  be  in  one's 
care  of  the  dear  innocents!  No  evidence  must  be 
trusted  save  that  of  one's  own  eye  and  hand  as  to  their 
dress,  their  food,  and  their  sleeping  arrangements. 
As  a  general  principle  a  child's  cry,  unless  caused  by 
some  suffering  imposed  by  Nature,  argues  a  short- 
coming on  the  part  of  the  mother  or  the  nurse.  Now 
that  I  have  two  children  to  look  after,  and  shall  soon 
have  three,  there  is  no  room  in  my  soul  for  any- 
thing else,  and  even  you,  dearly  as  I  love  you,  are  only 
a  memory.  I  am  not  always  dressed  by  two  o'clock 
in  the  day!  And  I  have  no  faith  in  mothers  whose 
rooms  are  always  tidy,  and  whose  collars  and  gowns 
and  fallals  are  always  neat.  Yesterday,  one  of  our  first 

269 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

April  days,  the  weather  was  lovely,  and  I  wanted  to 
take  the  children  out  before  my  confinement,  which 
is  close  upon  me.  Well,  to  a  mother,  the  taking  of  the 
children  out  is  a  perfect  poem,  and  she  looks  forward 
to  it  from  one  day  to  the  next.  Armand  was  to  wear 
a  new  black  velvet  coat,  a  new  collar  which  I  had 
embroidered  for  him,  a  Scotch  cap  with  the  Stuart 
colours,  and  a  black  cock's  feather.  Nais  was  to  be 
dressed  in  white  and  pink,  and  a  delightful  baby  bon- 
net. She  is  still  the  baby — she'll  lose  that  pretty 
title  when  the  little  fellow  whom  I  call  "  my  pauper," 
for  he'll  be  the  second  son,  makes  his  appearance.  I 
have  seen  my  child  already  in  a  dream,  and  I  know  I 
shall  have  a  boy.  Caps,  collars,  coats,  little  stock- 
ings, tiny  shoes,  pink  ribbons,  silk-embroidered  muslin 
frock,  were  all  laid  out  upon  my  bed.  When  these 
two  gay  little  birds  who  are  so  happy  together,  had 
had  their  dark  hair,  curled,  for  the  boy,  and  brushed 
gently  forward  so  as  to  peep  out  under  the  pink  and 
white  bonnet,  for  the  girl;  when  their  shoes  had  been 
fastened,  when  the  little  bare  calves  and  neatly  shod 
feet  had  trotted  about  the  nursery,  when  those  two 
"  faces  cleanes "  (as  Mary  calls  it  in  her  limpid 
French!)  and  those  sparkling  eyes  said  to  me,  "Let 
us  be  off!  "  my  heart  throbbed.  Oh,  to  see  one's  chil- 
dren dressed  up  by  one's  own  hands,  the  beauty  of 
their  fresh  skins,  on  which  the  blue  veins  shine  out 
after  one  has  washed  and  sponged  and  dried  them, 
heightened  by  the  brilliant  colours  of  the  velvet  or 
the  silk! — that's  better  than  any  poetry.  With  what 

270 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

hungry  passion  one  calls  them  back  to  press  fresh 
kisses  upon  their  necks  that  look  fairer  in  their  simple 
collars  than  the  loveliest  woman's!  Every  day  do  I 
paint  pictures  such  as  these,  which  every  mother 
pauses  to  admire,  even  in  the  commonest  coloured 
lithograph. 

When  we  were  out  of  doors,  while  I  was  enjoying 
the  fruit  of  my  labours  and  admiring  my  little  Ar- 
mand,  who  looked  like  a  prince  of  the  blood  royal  as 
he  led  the  baby  along  the  narrow  road  you  know  so 
well,  a  wagon  came  in  sight.  I  tried  to  pull  them  out 
of  the  way,  the  two  children  tumbled  into  a  puddle, 
and  so  ensued  the  ruin  of  my  master-pieces.  We  had 
to  take  them  home,  and  dress  them  over  again.  I 
picked  my  little  girl  up  in  my  arms,  never  noticing 
that  I  had  spoilt  my  dress  by  doing  it;  Mary  laid 
hands  on  Armand,  and  so  we  got  back  home.  When 
a  baby  cries,  and  a  boy  gets  wet,  there's  an  end  of 
everything — a  mother  never  gives  herself  another 
thought,  they  are  absorbed  elsewhere. 

As  a  rule,  when  dinner-time  comes,  I  have  got 
nothing  done  at  all.  And  how  am  I  to  manage  to  help 
them  both,  to  pin  on  their  napkins  and  turn  up  their 
cuffs,  and  feed  them?  This  problem  I  solve  twice 
in  every  day.  Amid  these  never-ending  cares,  these 
joys  and  these  disasters,  the  only  person  forgot- 
ten in  the  house  is  me.  Often,  if  the  children  are 
naughty,  I  haven't  time  to  take  out  my  curl-papers. 
My  appearance  depends  upon  their  temper.  To  get 
a  moment  to  myself  so  as  to  write  you  these  six  pages, 

271 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

I  have  to  let  them  cut  out  the  pictures  on  my  bal- 
lads and  build  castles  with  books  or  chess-men  or 
mother-o'-pearl  counters;  or  else  Nais  must  wind  my 
silks  and  wools  after  her  own  method — a  method  so 
complicated,  I  can  assure  you,  that  she  turns  all  her 
little  mind  to  it,  and  never  says  a  word. 

After  all,  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of.  My  two 
children  are  healthy  and  fearless,  and  amuse  them- 
selves with  less  trouble  to  others  than  you  would 
think.  Everything  is  a  delight  to  them.  They  really 
need  a  well-ordered  freedom  more  than  toys.  A  hand- 
ful of  pebbles,  pink  and  yellow,  purple  or  black,  a  few 
little  shells,  and  all  the  wonders  of  the  sand,  make 
them  quite  happy.  To  them  wealth  consists  in  the 
possession  of  a  large  number  of  small  things.  I  watch 
Armand,  and  I  find  him  talking  to  the  birds,  and  the 
flies,  and  the  cocks  and  hens,  and  imitating  them  all. 
He  is  on  excellent  terms  with  the  insect  world,  for 
which  he  has  the  greatest  admiration.  Everything 
that  is  tiny  interests  him.  He  begins  to  ask  me  the 
why  of  everything.  He  has  just  been  to  see  what  I 
was  saying  to  his  godmother.  Indeed  he  looks  on 
you  as  a  fairy — and  see  how  right  children  always  are! 

Alas!  my  dearest,  I  had  not  intended  to  sadden 
you,  by  telling  you  of  all  these  joys.  This  story  will 
give  you  an  idea  of  your  godson.  The  other  day,  a 
beggar  followed  us — for  the  poor  know  that  no  moth- 
er who  has  a  child  with  her  will  ever  refuse  them  alms. 
Armand  has  no  idea  as  yet  of  what  it  means  to  go 
hungry;  he  doesn't  know  what  money  is,  but  as  he 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

had  just  asked  for  a  trumpet,  and  I  had  bought  it  for 
him,  he  held  it  out  to  the  old  man,  with  a  regal  air, 
saying,  "  Here,  take  it!  " 

"  Have  I  your  leave  to  keep  it?  "  said  the  beggar 
to  me. 

Can  anything  on  earth  be  compared  with  the  joy 
of  such  a  moment? 

"  For  you  see,  madame,  I  have  had  children  of  my 
own,"  added  the  old  fellow,  as  he  took  what  I  gave 
him  without  even  looking  at  the  coin. 

When  I  think  that  such  a  child  as  Armand  must 
be  sent  to  school,  when  I  think  that  I  shall  only  be 
able  to  keep  him  for  another  three  years  and  a  half — 
I  feel  a  shiver  creep  over  me.  State  education  will 
mow  down  the  flowers  of  his  blessed  childhood,  will 
pervert  all  his  charm  and  his  exquisite  frankness. 
They  will  cut  off  his  curly  hair,  that  I  have  washed 
and  brushed  and  kissed  so  often.  What  will  they  do 
with  my  Armand's  heart? 

And  what  are  you  doing  all  this  time?  You've 
told  me  nothing  at  all  about  your  life.  Do  you  still 
love  Felipe? — for  I  have  no  anxiety  about  the  Sara- 
cen. Farewell!  Nais  has  just  tumbled  down,  and  be- 
sides, if  I  were  to  go  on,  this  letter  would  grow  into  a 
volume. 


273 


XLVI 

FROM  MME.  DE  MACUMER  TO  THE  COMTESSE  DE 
L'ESTORADE 

1829. 

MY  DEAR  LOVING-HEARTED  RENEE:     The  HCWS  of 

the  horrible  misfortune  that  has  fallen  on  me  will 
have  reached  you  through  the  newspapers.  I  have 
never  been  able  to  write  a  single  word  to  you.  For 
twenty  days  and  nights  I  watched  by  his  bed,  I  re- 
ceived his  last  breath,  I  closed  his  eyes,  I  knelt  pious- 
ly beside  his  corpse,  with  the  priest,  and  I  recited 
the  prayers  for  the  dead.  All  this  dreadful  suffering  I 
imposed  on  myself  as  a  chastisement.  And  yet,  when 
I  saw  the  smile  he  gave  me  just  before  he  died  still 
lying  on  his  calm  lips,  I  could  not  believe  that  it  was 
my  love  that  had  killed  him.  Well,  he  is  no  more,  and 
/  live  on.  What  more  can  I  say  to  you,  who  have 
known  us  both  so  well?  Everything  is  contained  in 
these  two  sentences.  Oh,  if  any  one  could  tell  me  he 
might  be  recalled  to  life,  I  would  give  my  hopes  of 
heaven  to  hear  the  promise,  for  it  would  be  heaven 
to  see  him  again.  To  lay  my  hand  on  him  even  for 
two  seconds,  would  be  to  breathe  without  a  dagger 
in  my  heart.  Won't  you  come  to  me  soon  and  tell 

274 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

me  that?  Don't  you  love  me  enough  to  tell  me  a  lie? 
.  .  .  But  no,  long  ago  you  warned  me  I  was  inflicting 
cruel  wounds  upon  him  ...  is  it  true?  .  .  .  No,  I 
never  deserved  his  love — you  are  quite  right — I 
cheated  him,  I  strangled  happiness  in  my  wild  em- 
brace. Oh,  I  am  not  wild  now,  as  I  write  to  you.  But 
I  feel  that  I  am  all  alone.  God!  is  there  anything  in 
hell  more  awful  than  that  one  word? 

When  they  took  him  away  from  me,  I  laid  myself 
down  in  his  bed  and  I  hoped  I  might  have  died. 
There  was  nothing  but  a  door  between  us.  I  thought 
I  was  strong  enough  still  to  break  it  down.  But  I 
was  too  young,  alas !  and  now  after  two  months,  during 
which  a  hateful  skill  has  used  every  artifice  known  to 
dreary  science  to  nurse  me  back  to  life,  I  find  myself 
in  the  country,  sitting  at  my  window,  among  the  flow- 
ers he  had  grown  for  me,  enjoying  the  splendid  view 
over  which  his  eyes  have  often  wandered,  and  which 
he  was  so  proud  of  having  discovered,  because 
I  loved  it.  Ah,  dearest,  it  is  extraordinary  how  it 
hurts  one  to  move  from  place  to  place  when  one's 
heart  is  dead.  The  damp  soil  of  my  garden  gives 
me  a  shudder.  The  earth  is  like  one  great  grave, 
and  I  fancy  I  am  treading  on  him.  The  first  time 
I  went  out,  I  stopped  in  a  fright,  and  stood  quite 
still.  It  is  very  dreary  to  look  at  his  flowers  with- 
out him. 

My  parents  are  in  Spain;  you  know  what  my 
brothers  are;  and  you  are  obliged  to  be  in  the  coun- 
try. But  let  not  that  distress  you.  Two  angels  flew 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

at  once  to  my  relief.  Those  kind  creatures,  the 
Duque  and  Duquesa  de  Soria,  hastened  to  their  broth- 
er's sick-bed.  The  last  few  nights  saw  us  all  three, 
gathered  in  calm  and  silent  sorrow,  round  the  bed  on 
which  one  of  those  truly  great  and  noble  men,  so  rare 
and  so  far  above  us  in  all  things,  lay  dying.  My  Fe- 
lipe's patience  was  angelic.  The  sight  of  his  brother 
and  Maria  cheered  his  heart  for  a  moment  and  soft- 
ened his  sufferings. 

"  Dear,"  he  said  to  me,  in  the  simple  way  which 
was  so  peculiarly  his  own,  "  I  was  very  nearly  dying 
without  leaving  my  Barony  of  Macumer  to  Fernando. 
I  must  alter  my  will.  My  brother  will  forgive  me — 
he  knows  what  it  is  to  be  in  love." 

I  owe  my  life  to  the  care  of  my  brother  and  sister- 
in-law.  They  want  to  take  me  away  to  Spain  with 
them. 

Ah,  Renee,  I  can't  express  the  extent  of  my  mis- 
fortune to  anybody  but  you.  I  am  overwhelmed  by 
the  sense  of  my  own  wrong-doing,  and  it  is  a  bitter 
comfort  to  me  to  acknowledge  it  to  you,  my  poor 
despised  Cassandra.  I  have  killed  him  with  my  un- 
reasonableness, my  ill-founded  jealousy,  my  perpetual 
tormenting.  My  love  was  all  the  more  fatal  because 
we  were  both  of  us  equally  and  exquisitely  sensitive, 
we  spoke  the  same  language,  his  comprehension  was 
perfect,  and  very  often,  without  my  suspecting  it,  my 
jests  cut  him  to  the  very  heart.  You  would  never 
conceive  the  point  to  which  that  dear  slave  carried  his 
obedience.  Sometimes  I  would  tell  him  to  go  away 

276 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

and  leave  me  alone.  He  would  go  at  once,  without 
ever  discussing  a  whim  which  quite  possibly  pained 
him.  Till  his  very  last  breath  he  blessed  me,  saying 
over  and  over  again  that  one  forenoon  spent  alone 
with  me  was  worth  more  to  him  than  a  long  life  spent 
with  any  other  woman  he  might  have  loved,  even 
were  it  Maria  Heredia.  My  tears  are  falling  while  I 
write  these  words  to  you. 

Now  I  get  up  at  noon,  I  go  to  bed  at  seven;  I 
dawdle  absurdly  over  my  meals,  I  walk  slowly,  I  stop 
for  an  hour  in  front  of  one  plant,  I  stare  at  the  foliage, 
I  busy  myself  solemnly  and  regularly  over  trifles.  I 
love  the  shade  and  the  silence  and  the  night.  I  wage 
war  with  every  hour,  in  short,  and  take  a  gloomy 
pleasure  in  adding  it  to  my  past.  The  peace  of  my  own 
grounds  is  the  only  company  I  can  endure.  In  every- 
thing around  me,  I  can  read  some  noble  image  of  my 
dead  happiness,  invisible  to  other  eyes,  but  clear  and 
eloquent  to  mine. 

My  sister-in-law  clasped  her  arms  round  me,  when 
I  said  to  her  one  day: 

"  I  can't  endure  you.  There  is  something  nobler 
in  your  Spanish  hearts  than  in  ours." 

Ah,  Renee,  if  I'm  not  dead,  it  must  be  because 
God  apportions  the  sense  of  misery  to  the  strength  of 
those  who  have  to  bear  it.  It  is  only  women  such  as 
we  who  are  able  to  realize  the  extent  of  our  loss, 
when  we  are  bereft  of  a  love  that  knows  no  hypocrisy 
— the  best  of  loves,  a  lasting  passion,  that  satisfied  na- 
ture and  heart  at  once.  How  often  does  one  meet  a 

277 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

man  whose  qualities  are  so  great  that  a  woman  can 
love  him  without  degrading  herself?  Such  an  expe- 
rience is  the  greatest  happiness  that  any  woman  can 
know,  and  no  woman  is  likely  to  come  upon  it  twice. 
Men  who  are  really  great  and  strong — men  who  can 
cast  a  halo  of  poetry  over  virtue — men  whose  souls  ex- 
ert a  mighty  charm,  men  who  are  born  to  be  adored — 
should  never  love,  for  they  will  bring  calamity  on  the 
women  they  love,  and  on  themselves.  This  is  my 
cry  as  I  wander  along  my  woodland  paths.  And  I 
have  no  child  of  his!  That  inexhaustible  love  which 
always  had  a  smile  for  me,  which  poured  out  nothing 
but  blossoms  and  delights  for  me,  was  barren.  There 
is  some  curse  upon  me.  Can  it  be  that  love,  when  it 
is  pure  and  fierce,  as  it  must  be  when  it  is  complete, 
is  as  unfruitful  as  aversion — just  as  the  excessive  heat 
of  the  desert  sands,  and  the  excessive  cold  of  the  polar 
ice,  both  preclude  the  existence  of  life?  Must  a 
woman  marry  a  Louis  de  1'Estorade,  if  she  is  to  be 
the  mother  of  children?  Is  God  jealous  of  Love?  I 
am  beginning  to  rave. 

I  think  you  are  the  only  person  I  can  bear  to 
have  with  me.  So  come  to  me;  you  alone  must  be 
with  a  mourning  Louise.  What  an  awful  day  that 
was  when  I  first  put  on  a  widow's  cap!  When  I  saw 
myself  in  my  black  dress,  I  dropped  down  on  a  chair, 
and  cried  till  dark.  I  am  crying  again  now,  as  I  tell 
•you  of  that  dreadful  moment. 

Farewell!  writing  to  you  tires  me.  I  am  sick  of 
my  thoughts;  I  won't  go  on  putting  them  into  words. 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Bring  your  children.  You  can  nurse  the  youngest 
here.  I  shall  not  be  jealous  any  more.  He  is  gone, 
and  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  my  godson — for  Felipe 
longed  to  have  a  child  like  little  Armand.  Come 
then,  and  share  my  sorrows  with  me!  .  .  . 


279 


XLVII 

FROM  REN£E  TO  LOUISE 

1829. 

MY  DARLING:  When  this  letter  reaches  your 
hands  I  shall  not  be  far  away,  for  I  start  a  few  mo- 
ments after  sending  it  to  you.  We  shall  be  alone. 
Louis  is  obliged  to  remain  in  Provence  on  account  of 
the  elections  which  are  just  coming  on — he  wants 
to  be  re-elected  and  the  Liberals  are  intriguing  against 
him  already. 

I  am  not  coming  to  console  you.  I  am  only 
bringing  my  heart  to  keep  yours  company,  and  to 
help  you  to  live  on.  I  am  coming  to  force  you  into 
tears;  that  is  the  only  fashion  in  which  you  may  buy 
the  happiness  of  meeting  him  some  day — for  he  is  only 
journeying  towards  God,  and  every  step  you  take  will 
lead  you  nearer  to  him.  Every  duty  you  fulfil  will 
break  some  link  of  the  chain  that  parts  you.  Cour- 
age, my  Louise.  When  my  arms  are  about  you,  you 
will  rise  up  again,  and  you  will  go  to  him,  pure,  noble, 
with  all  your  unintentional  faults  forgiven,  and  fol- 
lowed by  the  good  works  you  will  dedicate  to  his 
name  here  on  earth. 

These  lines  are  written  hastily,  in  the  midst  of  my 
preparations  and  of  my  children — with  Armand  shout- 
ing, "  Godmother,  godmother;  let's  go  and  see  her!  " 
till  I  am  half  jealous.  He  is  almost  your  own  son. 

280 


PART  SECOND 


XLVIII 

FROM  THE  BARONNE  DE  MACUMER  TO  THE  COMTESSB 
DE  L'ESTORADE 

October  ijth,  1833. 

WELL,  yes,  Renee,  the  story  you  heard  is  true.  I 
have  got  rid  of  my  town-house;  I  have  sold  Chante- 
pleurs  and  my  farms  in  Seine-et-Marne;  but  to  say 
I  am  mad  and  ruined  is  a  little  too  much.  Let  us 
reckon  up.  After  all  I  have  spent,  I  still  possess  some 
twelve  hundred  thousand  francs  out  of  my  poor  Ma- 
cumer's  fortune.  I'll  give  you  a  faithful  account  of 
everything,  like  a  dutiful  sister.  I  invested  a  mil- 
lion francs  in  the  three-per-cents  when  they  stood  at 
fifty  francs;  that  gives  me  sixty  thousand  francs  a 
year  instead  of  the  thirty  thousand  I  got  out  of  my 
landed  property.  What  a  burden  and  worry  for  a 
widow  of  seven-and-twenty,  what  disappointment  and 
loss  she  must  face,  if  she  has  to  spend  six  months 
of  every  year  in  the  country  granting  leases,  listen- 
ing to  grumbling  farmers  who  only  pay  when  they 
choose,  boring  herself  like  a  sportsman  in  rainy  weath- 
er, struggling  to  sell  her  produce  and  getting  rid  of  it 
at  a  loss — then  living  in  a  Paris  house,  costing  her 
ten  thousand  francs  a  year,  investing  her  funds 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

through  lawyers'  offices,  waiting  for  her  interest, 
obliged  to  prosecute  people  in  order  to  get  it,  study- 
ing the  law  of  mortgage,  and  with  business  matters  on 
her  shoulders  in  the  Nivernais,  in  Seine-et-Marne,  and 
in  Paris!  As  it  stands,  my  fortune  is  a  mortgage  on 
the  Budget.  Instead  of  my  paying  taxes  to  the  State, 
the  State  pays  me.  And  every  six  months,  without 
any  expense  at  all,  I  draw  thirty  thousand  francs  at 
the  Treasury,  from  a  neat  little  clerk  who  hands  me 
over  thirty  notes  of  a  thousand  francs  each,  and  smiles 
at  the  very  sight  of  me.  "  Supposing  France  should 
go  bankrupt?  "  you'll  say.  In  the  first  place,  "  Je  ne 
sais  pas  prevoir  les  malheurs  de  si  loin."  But  even  so, 
the  country  would  not  cut  down  my  income  by  more 
than  half,  at  most,  and  I  should  still  be  as  rich  as  I 
was  before  I  made  my  investment.  And  further,  from 
now  until  that  catastrophe  takes  place,  I  shall  have 
been  receiving  twice  as  much  as  I  received  in  the 
preceding  years.  Such  financial  crashes  occur  only 
once  in  a  century,  so  if  I  economize  I  shall  be  able  to 
lay  up  fresh  capital.  And  besides,  is  not  the  Comte 
de  1'Estorade  a  peer  of  the  semi-Republican  France 
of  the  July  Revolution?  Is  he  not  one  of  the  props  of 
the  crown  offered  by  the  people  to  the  King  of  thfe 
French?  Can  I  feel  the  least  anxiety,  when  I  remem- 
ber that  I  number  one  of  the  presidents  of  the  Audit 
Office,  and  a  great  financier  to  boot,  among  my 
friends?  Now  dare  to  say  I'm  mad.  I  reckon  nearly 
as  closely  as  your  Citizen  King.  And  do  you  know 
what  it  is  that  makes  a  woman  so  algebraically  wise? 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Love!  Alas!  the  time  has  come  for  me  to  explain  my 
mysterious  behaviour,  the  cause  of  which  has  escaped 
your  clear-sightedness,  your  loving  curiosity,  and  your 
shrewd  wit.  I  am  on  the  point  of  marrying  privately, 
in  a  village  close  to  Paris.  I  love,  and  I  am  loved.  I 
love  as  deeply  as  a  woman  who  well  knows  what  love 
is  can  possibly  love.  I  am  loved  as  fully  as  a  man 
should  love  the  woman  who  adores  him.  Forgive  me, 
Renee,  for  having  hidden  this  from  you,  and  from  all 
the  world.  If  your  Louise  has  deceived  every  eye 
and  baffled  every  curiosity,  you  must  admit  that  my 
passion  for  my  poor  Macumer  rendered  this  decep- 
tion indispensable.  You  and  1'Estorade  would  have 
plagued  me  with  doubts,  and  deafened  me  with  remon- 
strances; and  circumstances  might  possibly  have  stood 
you  in  good  stead.  You  alone  know  the  extent  of  my 
constitutional  jealousy,  and  you  would  have  tormented 
me  to  no  purpose.  I  was  determined  to  commit  what 
you,  my  Renee,  will  call  my  folly,  on  my  own  account, 
after  my  own  will,  my  own  heart,  like  some  young  girl 
eluding  her  parents'  watchful  eyes.  My  lover's  only 
fortune  consists  of  thirty  thousand  francs'  worth  of 
debts,  which  I  have  paid.  What  an  opportunity  for 
expostulation!  You  would  have  striven  to  convince 
me  that  Gaston  was  a  schemer,  and  your  husband 
would  have  spied  upon  the  poor  dear  boy.  I  preferred 
making  my  observations  on  my  own  account.  For 
the  last  two-and-twenty  months  he  has  been  paying 
his  court  to  me.  I  am  twenty-seven;  he  is  twenty- 
three.  Between  a  woman  and  a  man  such  a  difference 

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The  Memoirs  of   Two  Young  Brides 

in  age  is  something  enormous.  Yet  another  cause  of 
misery!  And  finally,  he  is  a  poet,  and  lives  by  his 
pen — which  is  the  same  thing  as  telling  you  he  has 
lived  on  very  little  indeed.  The  dear  idler  spent  much 
more  time  basking  in  the  sun  and  building  castles  in 
the  air,  than  sitting  in  the  shadow  of  his  garret  and 
working  at  his  poems.  Now  matter-of-fact  people 
very  generally  tax  authors,  artists,  and  all  those  who 
live  by  their  brains,  with  inconstancy.  They  espouse 
and  conceive  so  many  fancies,  that  their  heads  are  not 
unnaturally  supposed  to  react  upon  their  hearts.  In 
spite  of  the  debts  I  have  paid,  in  spite  of  the  differ- 
ence in  age,  in  spite  of  the  poetry — after  nine  months 
of  noble  resistance,  during  which  I  had  never  even 
given  him  leave  to  kiss  my  hand — after  the  purest  and 
most  delicious  of  courtships,  I  am  about — not  to  sur- 
render myself,  as  I  did  eight  years  ago,  in  all  my  inex- 
perience, ignorance  and  curiosity,  but  to  bestow  my- 
self deliberately — and  with  such  submission  is  the  gift 
awaited,  that  if  I  chose  I  might  put  off  my  marriage 
for  another  year.  But  there  is  not  a  touch  of  servility 
in  this — it  is  service,  not  subjection.  Never  was  there 
a  nobler  heart,  never  was  there  more  wit  in  tenderness, 
more  soul  in  love,  than  in  my  affianced  husband's  case. 
Alas!  my  dearest,  that  is  but  natural.  You  shall  hear 
his  story  in  a  few  words. 

My  friend  has  no  name  save  those  of  Marie  Gas- 
ton.  He  is  the  son,  not  natural,  but  adulterous,  of 
that  beautiful  Lady  Brandon  of  whom  you  must  have 
heard,  and  on  whom  Lady  Dudley  avenged  herself  byi 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

making  her  die  of  sorrow — a  horrible  story  of  which 
this  dear  boy  knows  nothing  at  all.  Marie  Gaston 
was  placed  by  his  brother,  Louis  Gaston,  at  the  Col- 
lege of  Tours,  which  he  left  in  1827.  A  few  days  after 
Louis  Gaston  had  left  him  there,  he  himself  left  the 
country  to  seek  his  fortune — so  Marie  was  told  by  an 
old  woman  who  has  acted  the  part  of  Providence  to 
him.  From  time  to  time,  this  brother,  now  become  a 
sailor,  has  written  him  truly  fatherly  letters,  evident- 
ly dictated  by  a  noble  heart.  But  he  is  still  strug- 
gling, far  away.  In  his  last  letter,  he  told  Marie 
Gaston  he  had  been  appointed  a  flag  captain  in  the 
navy  of  some  American  Republic  and  that  better 
times  would  shortly  come.  But  for  three  years  my 
poor  poet  has  had  no  letter  at  all,  and  so  devoted  is 
he  to  his  brother,  that  he  wanted  to  sail  away  in  search 
of  him.  The  great  writer,  Daniel  d'Arthez,  prevented 
him  from  committing  this  mad  act,  and  has  taken 
the  most  noble  interest  in  Marie  Gaston,  to  whom  he 
has  often  given,  as  the  poet  says,  in  his  picturesque 
way,  "  la  patee  et  la  niche."  And,  indeed,  you  may 
conceive  the  difficulties  in  which  the  poor  boy  has 
been.  He  fancied  genius  would  provide  him  with  the 
most  rapid  means  of  making  a  fortune.  Is  not  that 
enough  to  set  one  laughing  for  four-and-twenty  hours 
on  end?  So,  from  1828  to  1833,  he  has  been  labour- 
ing to  make  himself  a  name  in  literature,  and  has 
naturally  led  the  most  frightful  life  of  hopes  and  fears, 
toil  and  privation,  that  can  be  conceived.  Led  away 
by  his  excessive  ambition,  and  in  spite  of  d'Arthez's 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

wise  counsels,  his  debts  have  been  constantly  rolling 
up,  like  a  snow-ball.  Nevertheless,  his  name  was  be- 
ginning to  attract  attention  when  I  first  met  him  at 
the  house  of  the  Marquise  d'Espard.  There,  at  the 
first  sight  of  him,  though  without  his  suspecting  it,  I 
felt  a  sympathetic  thrill.  How  comes  it  that  no  one 
has  fallen  in  love  with  him  yet?  How  is  it  that  he  has 
been  left  for  me?  Oh,  he  has  genius  and  wit,  he  has 
feeling  and  pride — and  perfect  nobility  of  heart  always 
frightens  women  away. 

Had  not  Napoleon  won  a  hundred  fields,  before 
Josephine  could  recognise  him  in  the  little  Bonaparte 
who  was  her  husband?  This  innocent  boy  fancies  he 
knows  the  extent  of  my  love  for  him.  Poor  Gaston, 
he  doesn't  dream  of  it.  But  I'm  going  to  tell  it  to 
you — you  must  know  it.  For  this  letter,  Renee,  is 
something  of  a  last  will  and  testament.  Ponder  my 
words  deeply. 

At  this  moment  I  possess  the  certainty  that  I  am 
loved  as  much  as  any  woman  can  be  loved  on  earth, 
and  I  put  all  my  faith  in  the  adorable  conjugal  exist- 
ence to  which  I  bring  a  love  hitherto  unknown  to 
me.  .  .  .  Yes,  at  last  I  know  the  joys  of  a  mutual 
passion.  That  which  all  women,  nowadays,  are  ask- 
ing of  love,  marriage  will  bring  to  me.  I  feel  in  my 
soul  that  adoration  for  Gaston  which  my  poor  Felipe 
felt  for  me.  I  am  not  mistress  of  myself,  I  tremble  in 
that  boy's  presence  just  as  the  Abencerrage  once 
trembled  in  mine.  In  short,  I  love  him  more  than  he 
loves  me.  I  am  frightened  of  everything.  I  have  the 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

most  ridiculous  terrors.  I  fear  I  may  be  forsaken;  I 
tremble  at  the  thought  that  I  may  grow  old  and  ugly 
while  Gaston  is  still  young  and  handsome.  I  tremble 
lest  I  may  not  seem  lovable  enough  to  him.  Yet  I 
think  I  possess  the  powers,  the  devotion,  the  intelli- 
gence necessary  not  only  to  sustain  but  to  increase  his 
love,  far  from  the  world,  and  in  the  deepest  solitude. 
If  I  were  to  fail — if  the  glorious  poem  of  this  secret 
love  were  to  end — end,  did  I  say? — if  Gaston  should 
some  day  love  me  less  than  on  the  day  before,  and  I 
were  to  find  it  out — remember,  Renee,  it  is  not  him,  it 
is  myself  that  I  should  blame.  It  would  be  no  fault  of 
his,  it  would  be  mine.  I  know  my  own  nature — there 
is  more  of  the  mistress  than  of  the  mother  in  me,  and  I 
tell  you  beforehand  I  should  die,  even  if  I  had  chil- 
dren. Therefore,  before  I  make  this  bond  with  my- 
self, I  beseech  you,  my  Renee,  if  misfortune  should 
overtake  me,  to  be  a  mother  to  my  children.  They 
will  be  my  legacy  to  you.  Your  passionate  devotion 
to  duty,  your  precious  qualities,  your  love  of  children, 
your  tender  affection  for  me,  all  that  I  know  of  you, 
will  make  death  seem,  I  will  not  say  sweet,  but  less 
bitter  to  me.  This  engagement  with  myself  adds  a 
touch  of  terror  to  the  solemnity  of  my  marriage. 
Therefore  no  one  who  knows  me  shall  be  present  at 
it.  Therefore  it  will  be  performed  in  secret.  So  shall 
I  be  free  to  tremble  as  I  choose — I  shall  read  no  anx- 
iety in  your  eyes,  and  none  but  myself  will  know  that 
when  I  sign  this  new  marriage  bond,  I  may  be  sign- 
ing my  own  death-warrant. 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

I  will  not  again  refer  to  this  compact  between 
myself  and  that  which  I  am  about  to  become.  I  have 
confided  it  to  you,  only  that  you  might  know  the  full 
extent  of  your  responsibilities.  I  am  marrying  with 
the  full  control  of  my  own  fortune,  and  though  Gaston 
is  aware  that  I  am  rich  enough  to  enable  us  to  live  in 
comfort,  he  knows  nothing  about  the  amount  of  my 
income.  In  twenty-four  hours  I  shall  distribute  my 
fortune  according  to  my  own  will.  As  I  don't  choose 
my  husband  to  find  himself  in  a  humiliating  position, 
I  have  transferred  an  income  of  twelve  thousand 
francs  to  his  name.  The  night  before  our  marriage 
he  will  find  the  bond  in  his  writing-table,  and  if  he 
were  to  object,  I  should  postpone  everything.  I  had 
to  threaten  I  would  not  marry  him,  before  I  could  get 
leave  to  pay  his  debts.  I  am  tired  with  writing  all 
these  confessions  to  you,  the  day  after  to-morrow  I 
will  tell  you  more — but  to-morrow  I  am  obliged  to 
spend  the  whole  day  in  the  country. 

20th  October. 

Here  are  the  measures  I  have  adopted  to  screen 
my  bliss  from  prying  eyes — for  I  am  bent  on  remov- 
ing every  possible  cause  likely  to  excite  my  native 
jealousy.  I  am  like  the  lovely  Italian  princess  who, 
having  sprung  like  a  lioness  upon  her  prey,  carried 
her  love  off,  like  a  lioness,  to  devour  it  in  some  Swiss 
village.  And  I  only  mention  my  arrangements,  that 
I  may  ask  you  to  do  me  another  kindness — never  to 
come  and  see  us  unless  I  have  asked  you  to  come  my- 
self, and  to  respect  my  desire  to  live  in  solitude. 

288 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Two  years  ago,  I  bought  some  twenty  acres  of 
meadow-land,  a  strip  of  wood,  and  a  fine  fruit  garden, 
all  standing  above  the  lakes  at  Ville  d'Avray,  on  the 
way  to  Versailles.  In  the  midst  of  these  meadows,  I 
have  had  the  ground  excavated,  so  as  to  make  a  lake 
of  about  three  acres,  in  the  centre  of  which  I  have  left 
an  island  with  prettily  indented  shores.  From  the 
two  beautiful  wooded  hills  that  shut  in  the  little 
valley,  several  charming  brooks  run  through  my 
grounds,  and  my  architect  has  taken  cunning  advan- 
tage of  them.  These  streams  all  fall  into  the  lakes  on 
the  Crown  property,  of  which  we  catch  occasional 
glimpses.  The  park,  which  has  been  laid  out  most 
beautifully  by  my  architect,  is  surrounded,  according 
to  the  nature  of  the  ground,  by  hedges,  walls,  and 
sunk  fences,  so  that  the  most  is  made  of  every  view. 
In  a  most  delightful  situation,  half-way  up  the  slope, 
and  flanked  by  the  woods,  with  a  meadow  in  front, 
sloping  down  towards  the  lake,  I  have  built  a  chalet 
exactly  the  same  in  external  appearance  as  that  which 
all  travellers  admire  on  the  road  from  Sion  to  Brieg, 
and  which  so  took  my  fancy  on  my  way  back  from 
Italy.  Within  doors,  the  elegance  of  the  chalet  defies 
the  competition  of  its  most  illustrious  compeers.  A 
hundred  paces  from  this  rustic  dwelling  is  a  charming 
little  house,  communicating  with  the  chalet  by  an 
underground  passage.  This  contains  the  kitchen, 
offices,  stables  and  coach-house.  The  fagade  of  these 
bride-built  edifices,  most  graceful  and  simple  in  de- 
sign, and  surrounded  with  shrubberies,  is  the  only  por- 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

tion  of  them  that  is  visible.  The  gardeners  live  in 
another  building,  which  masks  the  entrance  to  the 
orchards  and  kitchen  gardens. 

The  gate  into  the  demesne,  sunk  in  the  wall  that 
bounds  it  on  the  wooded  side,  is  almost  undiscover- 
able.  In  two  or  three  years  the  plantations,  which  are 
already  very  tall,  will  have  so  grown  up  that  the 
buildings  will  be  quite  concealed.  The  passer-by  will 
never  suspect  the  existence  of  our  dwelling,  except  by 
the  smoke  he  will  see  curling  upward  as  he  looks 
down  from  the  hills,  or  else  in  winter  time  when  the 
leaves  are  all  fallen. 

My  chalet  has  been  built  in  the  middle  of  a  land- 
scape copied  from  what  is  known  as  the  King's 
Garden,  at  Versailles,  only  that  it  looks  out  over  my 
lake  and  my  island.  On  every  side  are  the  hills,  with 
their  verdant  masses,  and  the  fine  trees  which  are  so 
admirably  cared  for  under  your  new  Civil  List.  My 
gardeners  have  orders  to  grow  nothing  but  sweet- 
scented  flowers  and  thousands  of  them,  so  that  this 
corner  of  the  earth  may  always  be  like  a  perfumed 
emerald.  The  chalet,  the  roof  of  which  is  hung  with 
masses  of  Virginia  creeper,  is  literally  hidden  under 
climbing  plants — hops,  clematis,  jessamine,  azaleas, 
and  cobaea.  The  man  who  contrives  to  make  out  our 
windows  may  fairly  boast  of  his  good  sight. 

The  said  chalet,  my  dear,  is  a  pretty  and  comfort- 
able house,  with  its  heating  apparatus  and  all  the 
conveniences  known  to  our  modern  architects,  who 
can  design  palaces  to  fit  into  a  square  of  a  hundred 

290 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

feet.  There  is  a  set  of  rooms  in  it  for  Gaston,  and 
a  set  of  rooms  for  me.  The  ground-floor  consists  of 
an  ante-room,  a  parlour,  and  a  dining-room.  Above 
our  own  rooms  are  three  more,  intended  for  the  nur- 
sery. I  have  five  fine  horses,  a  light  brougham  and 
a  "  milord,"  each  to  be  drawn  by  a  pair.  We  are 
only  forty  minutes'  drive  from  Paris.  When  we  have 
a  fancy  to  listen  to  an  opera  or  see  a  new  play,  we  can 
after  dinner,  and  come  home  to  our  nest  at  night. 
The  road  is  a  good  one,  and  it  runs  under  the  shadow 
of  our  boundary  hedge.  My  servants — the  chef,  the 
coachman,  the  groom,  the  gardeners,  my  own  maid — 
are  all  very  respectable  people,  for  whom  I  have  been 
looking  about  for  the  last  six  months,  and  they  will  be 
under  my  old  Philippe's  orders.  Though  I  am  sure  of 
their  attachment  and  discretion,  I  have  bound  them  to 
me  by  their  interest  as  well.  Their  wages  are  not  very 
high,  but  they  will  be  raised  every  successive  year,  by 
our  New  Year's  gifts  to  them.  They  all  know  that  the 
slightest  failure  in  discretion,  or  even  a  doubt  on  that 
score,  would  cost  them  immense  benefits.  People 
who  are  in  love  with  each  other  never  worry  their 
servants.  They  are  naturally  indulgent.  So  I  can 
reckon  on  my  people. 

All  the  precious,  pretty,  and  dainty  things  that 
were  in  my  house  in  the  Rue  du  Bac  are  now  in  my 
chalet.  The  Rembrandt  (as  if  it  were  a  mere  daub)  is 
on  the  stair-case.  The  Hobbima  hangs  in  his  dressing- 
room,  opposite  the  Rubens.  The  Titian  my  sister-in- 
law  Maria  sent  me  from  Madrid  adorns  the  boudoir. 

Vol.   2 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

All  the  beautiful  bits  of  furniture  Felipe  picked  up 
have  found  appropriate  places  in  the  parlour,  which 
my  architect  has  decorated  in  the  most  delightful 
manner.  Everything  about  my  chalet  is  exquisitely 
simple — with  that  simplicity  that  costs  a  hundred 
thousand  francs.  The  ground-floor,  built  over  cellars 
constructed  of  flint  stones  set  in  concrete,  and  almost 
hidden  by  flowers  and  climbing  shrubs,  is  most  de- 
liciously  cool,  without  being  in  the  slightest  degree 
damp,  and  a  bevy  of  white  swans  floats  on  the  lake. 

Oh,  Renee,  there  is  a  stillness  in  my  valley  that 
would  rejoice  the  dead!  In  the  morning  I  am  roused 
by  the  songs  of  the  birds  or  by  the  whisper  of  the 
breeze  among  the  poplars.  When  my  architect  was 
digging  the  foundation  of  the  wall  that  skirts  the 
woods,  he  came  upon  a  little  spring  that  runs  down 
into  the  lake,  over  a  bed  of  silvery  sand,  and  between 
two  banks  of  water-cress.  I  don't  think  any  money 
value  could  be  set  upon  that  rill.  Won't  Gaston  take 
a  horror  of  this  overperfect  bliss?  It  is  all  so  lovely 
that  I  shudder  with  fear.  Worms  burrow  into  the 
choicest  fruits,  insects  attack  the  loveliest  flowers. 
Doesn't  that  hideous  brown  grub,  whose  greediness 
is  like  the  greed  of  death  itself,  always  choose  the  pride 
of  the  whole  forest  for  its  prey?  Already  I  have  learnt 
that  an  invisible  and  jealous  power  can  lay  an  angry 
hand  on  absolute  felicity.  Long  ago,  you  wrote  it  to 
me — and,  indeed,  you  were  a  true  prophet. 

Wh*n  I  went  down  the  day  before  yesterday,  to 
see  if  my  last  whims  had  been  duly  comprehended,  I 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

felt  the  tears  spring  into  my  eyes,  and,  to  the  archi- 
tect's great  surprise,  I  wrote  "  Payment  approved  " 
across  the  memorandum  of  his  charges. 

"  Your  lawyer  will  refuse  payment,  madame,"  he 
said.  "  It's  a  matter  of  three  hundred  thousand 
francs." 

Like  a  true  daughter  of  my  seventeenth-century 
ancestresses,  I  added  the  words,  "  without  discussion." 

"  But,  sir,"  I  added,  "  I  burden  my  acknowledg- 
ment with  one  condition.  Never  mention  these  build- 
ings, nor  the  grounds  in  which  they  stand,  to  any 
living  soul.  Never  tell  any  one  the  name  of  their 
proprietor.  Promise  me,  on  your  honour,  that  you 
will  observe  this  clause  in  our  agreement." 

Now  do  you  understand  the  meaning  of  all  my 
sudden  journeys,  all  my  secret  goings  and  comings? 
Now  do  you  see  whither  all  the  beautiful  things  I  am 
supposed  to  have  sold  have  gone?  Do  you  under- 
stand the  deep  reason  at  the  bottom  of  the  alteration 
in  my  financial  arrangements?  My  dear,  love  is  a 
tremendous  business,  and  the  woman  who  wants  to 
do  that  well  must  have  no  other.  I  shall  never  have 
any  worry  about  money  again.  I  have  simplified  my 
life,  and  I've  played  the  notable  housekeeper  well  and 
thoroughly,  so  that  I  may  never  have  to  do  it  again, 
except  for  my  ten  minutes'  talk  every  morning  with 
my  old  steward  Philippe.  I  have  watched  life  and  its 
dangerous  eddies  closely.  There  was  a  day  on  which 
death  taught  me  cruel  things.  I  mean  to  profit  by 
those  teachings.  To  love  him,  to  be  his  delight,  to 

293 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

impart  variety  to  that  which  seems  so  monotonous  to 
ordinary  folk — these  shall  be  my  sole  and  only  occu- 
pations. 

Gaston  knows  nothing  at  all  as  yet.  At  my  re- 
quest, he  has  registered  his  domicile,  as  I  have  mine, 
at  Ville  d'Avray.  We  shall  start  to-morrow  for  the 
chalet.  Our  life  there  will  not  cost  a  great  deal  of 
money.  But  if  I  were  to  tell  you  the  sum  I  reckon 
for  the  expenses  of  my  dress,  you  would  say,  and  truly, 
"  She  is  mad!  "  I  mean  to  deck  myself  out  for  him, 
every  day,  just  as  other  women  deck  themselves  fof 
society.  Living  in  the  country  all  the  year  round,  my 
dress  will  cost  me  twenty-four  thousand  francs  a 
year,  and  the  garments  I  wear  in  the  daytime  will  not 
be  by  any  means  the  most  expensive.  He  may  wear 
blouses  if  he  likes.  Don't  think  I  want  to  turn  my  life 
into  a  duel,  and  wear  myself  out  in  inventions  for  feed- 
ing passion.  All  I  desire  is  to  avoid  ever  having  to  re- 
proach myself.  There  are  thirteen  years  before  me 
during  which  I  may  still  be  a  pretty  woman — I  want 
to  be  loved  more  fondly  on  the  last  day  of  the  thir- 
teenth year  than  I  shall  be  loved  on  the  morrow  of  my 
secret  marriage.  I  will  always  be  humble,  always 
grateful,  this  time;  I  will  never  say  a  sharp  word. 
Since  it  was  command  that  wrought  my  ruin  in  the 
first  instance,  I  will  be  a  servant  now.  Oh,  Renee,  if 
Gaston  has  realized  the  preciousness  of  love  as  I  have, 
I  am  certain  to  be  happy  all  my  days!  Nature  is  beau- 
tiful all  around  my  chalet,  the  woods  are  quite  en- 
trancing. At  every  turn  the  most  verdant  landscapes 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

lie  before  me,  and  the  woodland  views  delight  the  soul 
and  inspire  the  most  exquisite  fancies.  These  woods 
are  alive  with  love.  Heaven  grant  I  may  have  pre- 
pared myself  something  better  than  a  gorgeous  fu- 
neral pyre!  The  day  after  to-morrow  I  shall  be 
Madame  Gaston.  Good  God!  sometimes  I  ask  myself 
whether  any  Christian  ought  to  love  a  man  so  much! 

"  Well,  it's  legal,  at  all  events,"  quoth  my  man  of 
business,  who  is  to  witness  my  marriage,  and  who, 
when  at  last  he  perceived  my  object  in  realizing  my 
fortune,  cried,  "  This  will  cost  me  my  client." 

You,  my  beautiful — I  dare  no  longer  say  my  be- 
loved— darling,  you  may  say,  "  This  costs  me  a 
sister." 

My  dearest,  address  your  letters  in  future  to 
Madame  Gaston,  Poste  Restante,  Versailles.  We 
all  send  over  there  for  our  letters  every  day.  I  do 
,iot  want  our  name  to  be  known  in  this  neighbour- 
hood. We  shall  send  up  to  Paris  for  all  our  provisions. 
By  this  means  I  hope  to  be  able  to  live  in  mystery. 
My  retreat  has  been  ready  for  me  for  a  whole  year, 
and  not  a  soul  has  seen  it.  The  purchase  was  made 
during  the  disturbances  which  followed  on  the  Revo- 
lution of  July.  My  architect  is  the  only  being  who  has 
been  seen  in  the  country-side,  nobody  there  knows 
any  one  but  him,  and  he  will  never  come  again. 
Farewell!  As  I  write  the  word,  my  heart  is  as  full  of 
sorrow  as  of  joy.  Does  not  that  mean  that  I  regret 
you  as  deeply  as  I  worship  Gaston? 


295 


XLIX 

FROM    MARIE    GASTON    TO    DANIEL    D'ARTHEZ 

October,  1833. 

MY  DEAR  DANIEL:  I  want  two  friends  to  act  as 
witnesses  at  my  marriage.  I  beg  you'll  come  to  me 
to-morrow  evening  and  bring  our  good  and  noble- 
hearted  friend,  Joseph  Bridau,  with  you.  The  lady 
who  is  to  be  my  wife  intends  to  live  far  from  the  world, 
and  utterly  unknown — she  thus  anticipates  my  dear- 
est wish.  You,  who  have  softened  the  sufferings  of 
my  life  of  poverty,  have  known  nothing  of  my  love, 
but  you  will  have  guessed  that  this  absolute  secrecy 
was  a  necessity.  This  is  why  we  have  seen  so  little  of 
each  other  for  the  last  year.  The  morrow  of  our  mar- 
riage will  mark  the  beginning  of  a  longer  separation. 
Daniel,  your  heart  was  fashioned  to  understand  mine 
— friendship  will  endure  although  the  friend  be  absent. 
Perhaps  I  shall  sometimes  need  you,  but  I  shall  not 
see  you — in  my  own  home,  at  all  events.  In  this, 
too,  she  has  forestalled  our  wishes.  She  has  sacrificed 
her  affection  for  the  friend  of  her  childhood,  to  whom 
she  has  been  as  a  sister,  for  my  sake,  and  I  must  give 
up  my  friend  for  hers.  What  I  tell  you  here  will  doubt- 
less show  you  that  this  is  not  a  mere  passion,  but 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

love — full,  complete,  divine,  founded  on  intimate  ac- 
quaintance between  the  two  beings  who  thus  bind 
themselves.  My  happiness  is  pure  and  infinite,  but — 
since  a  hidden  law  forbids  any  man  the  possession  of 
unalloyed  felicity — at  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  and 
hidden  in  its  inmost  depth,  I  hide  a  thought  which 
touches  me  alone,  and  whereof  she  knows  nothing. 
You  have  helped  me  so  often,  in  my  incessant  poverty, 
that  you  are  well  aware  how  dreadful  my  condition 
has  been.  Whence  did  I  draw  courage  to  live  on, 
even  when  hope  died,  as  it  so  often  did?  From  your 
past,  my  friend,  and  from  you — who  gave  me  such  lib- 
eral consolation  and  such  delicate  help.  Well,  my 
dear  fellow,  she  has  paid  all  those  pressing  debts  of 
mine.  She  has  wealth,  and  I  have  nothing.  How 
often,  in  one  of  my  fits  of  idleness,  have  I  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  if  some  rich  woman  would  but  take  a  fancy  to 
me!  "  Well,  in  presence  of  the  actual  fact,  the  jest  of 
careless  youth,  the  settled  determination  of  poverty 
that  knows  no  scruple,  have  all  faded  away.  In  spite 
of  my  absolute  certainty  of  her  nobility  of  heart,  I 
feel  humiliated,  even  while  I  know  that  my  humilia- 
tion proves  my  love.  Well,  she  has  seen  I  have  not 
flinched  from  this  abasement!  There  is  a  matter  in 
which,  far  from  my  protecting  her,  she  has  protected 
me — and  this  suffering  I  confide  to  you.  Apart  from 
this,  dear  Daniel,  my  dreams  are  realized  to  the  very 
uttermost.  I  have  found  spotless  beauty  and  perfect 
goodness.  In  fact,  as  the  saying  is,  the  bride  is  too 
beautiful.  There  is  wit  in  her  tenderness;  she  has  that 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

charm  and  grace  which  impart  variety  to  love;  she  is 
well  taught,  and  understands  everything;  she  is 
pretty,  fair,  slight,  and  yet  plump — so  that  one  would 
fancy  Raphael  and  Rubens  each  had  a  hand  in  her 
composition.  I  don't  know  that  I  should  ever  have 
been  able  to  love  a  dark  woman  as  much  as  a  fair  one. 
A  dark  woman  has  always  struck  me  as  being  rather 
like  a  boy  who  has  been  spoilt  in  the  making.  She  is 
a  widow,  she  has  never  had  a  child,  she  is  twenty- 
seven.  Though  she  is  lively,  active,  and  untiring,  she 
knows  how  to  find  pleasure  in  melancholy  meditation. 
In  spite  of  these  marvellous  gifts,  she  is  both  dignified 
and  noble  looking;  she  has  an  imposing  air.  Though 
she  comes  of  one  of  the  proudest  of  our  aristocratic 
families,  she  cares  for  me  enough  to  overlook  the  mis- 
fortune of  my  birth.  Our  hidden  loves  had  lasted  for 
a  considerable  time:  we  have  put  each  other  to  the 
test;  we  are  both  of  us  jealous;  our  thoughts  are  twin 
flashes  from  the  same  thunderbolt.  With  each  of  us, 
this  is  our  first  love,  and  the  joys  of  this  exquisite 
spring-tide  have  filled  our  hearts  with  all  the  most 
exquisite,  the  sweetest  and  the  deepest  feelings  that 
imagination  can  conceive.  Sentiment  has  showered 
down  flowers  upon  us.  Every  one  of  our  days  has 
been  complete,  and  when  we  were  apart  we  wrote 
each  other  poems.  It  has  never  occurred  to  me  to 
tarnish  this  glorious  season  with  an  expression  of  de- 
sire, although  my  heart  was  always  full  of  it.  She,  a 
widow,  and  a  free  woman,  has  perfectly  appreciated 
the  tribute  rendered  her  by  this  perpetual  restraint— 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

it  has  often  touched  her  even  to  tears.  Thus,  my  dear 
Daniel,  you  will  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  really  superior 
being.  We  have  never  even  exchanged  our  first  kiss, 
we  have  each  been  afraid  of  the  other. 

"  Both  of  us  have  a  trifle  to  reproach  ourselves 
with,"  said  she  to  me. 

"  I  don't  know  what  yours  may  be." 

"  My  marriage,"  was  her  answer. 

You,  who  are  a  great  man,  and  who  love  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  women  of  that  aristocracy  in 
which  I  have  found  my  Armande,  will  divine  her  na- 
ture from  those  words,  and  gauge  the  future  happi- 
ness of  your  friend,  MARIE  GASTON. 


299 


t 

FROM  MME.   DE  I/ESTORADE  TO  MME.   DE   MACUMER 

WHAT'S  this,  Louise?  After  all  the  griefs  a  mu- 
tual passion,  and  that  a  married  passion  has  brought 
upon  you,  you  propose  to  live  a  life  of  solitude  with 
another  husband?  After  having  killed  one  man,  even 
when  you  lived  with  him  in  the  world,  you  must  needs 
go  apart  to  devour  another!  What  sorrows  you  are 
preparing  for  yourself!  But  I  can  see  by  the  way  you 
have  set  about  it,  that  the  whole  thing  is  irrevocable. 
Any  man  who  can  overcome  your  horror  of  a  second 
marriage  must  have  the  mind  of  an  angel  and  the 
heart  of  a  god.  So  I  must  leave  you  to  your  illusions. 
But  have  you  forgotten  all  you  used  to  say  about  the 
youth  of  men — that  they  have  all  been  through  vile 
experiences,  and  dropped  their  innocence  on  the  filthi- 
est crossings  of  the  road  of  life?  Which  has  altered 
— they  or  you?  You  are  very  lucky  to  be  able  to  be- 
lieve in  happiness.  I  have  not  the  heart  to  blame  you, 
although  my  instinctive  affection  impels  me  to  dis- 
suade you  from  this  marriage.  Yes,  a  hundred  times, 
yes!  Nature  and  Society  do  agree  together  to  destroy 
the  existence  of  any  complete  felicity,  because  such 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

felicity  is  hostile  to  Nature  and  Society — because,  it 
may  be,  Heaven  is  jealous  of  its  rights.  My  love  for 
you,  in  short,  dreads  some  misfortune,  the  nature  of 
which  no  amount  of  foresight  can  reveal  to  me.  I 
know  not  whence  it  is  to  come,  nor  from  which  of  you 
it  will  spring.  But,  my  dearest,  immense  and  bound- 
less happiness  is  certain  to  break  you  down.  Exces- 
sive joy  is  more  difficult  to  endure  than  the  most 
crushing  sorrow.  I  do  not  say  one  word  against  him. 
You  love  him,  and  I,  no  doubt,  have  never  laid  my 
eyes  upon  him;  but  one  of  these  days,  I  hope,  when 
you  feel  idle,  you  will  send  me  some  written  portrait 
of  this  beautiful  and  curious  animal. 

You  see  I  am  making  my  mind  up  to  the  whole 
business  cheerfully.  For  I  am  certain  that  once  your 
honeymoon  is  over,  you'll  both  reappear,  like  every- 
body else,  and  of  your  own  free-will.  One  of  these 
days,  some  two  years  hence,  when  you  and  I  are  out 
together,  we  shall  drive  down  that  road,  and  you'll 
say  to  me,  "  Why,  there's  the  chalet  I  was  never  to 
have  left  again ! "  .  .  .  and  you'll  laugh  your  merry 
laugh  that  shows  all  your  pretty  teeth.  I've  said 
nothing  to  Louis  as  yet.  He  would  laugh  at  us  too 
much.  I  shall  simply  tell  him  you  are  married,  and 
that  you  wish  your  marriage  to  be  kept  secret.  You 
need  neither  mother  nor  sister,  alas!  to  attend  you  to 
your  bridal-chamber.  This  is  October.  You  are  be- 
ginning your  life  in  the  winter,  like  a  brave  woman.  If 
I  were  not  talking  about  a  marriage,  I  should  say  you 
were  taking  the  bull  by  the  horns.  Well,  you  will  al- 

301 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

ways  find  me  the  most  discreet  and  understanding  of 
friends.  The  mysteries  of  Central  Africa  have  swal- 
lowed up  many  a  traveller.  And  as  far  as  your  heart  is 
concerned,  you  seem  to  me  to  be  starting  on  a  journey 
very  like  those  in  which  so  many  explorers  have  per- 
ished, by  the  hand  of  negroes,  or  on  those  burning 
sands.  But  your  desert  is  only  two  leagues  from 
Paris,  so  I  can  waft  you  a  cheerful  "  pleasant  journey." 
We  shall  soon  see  you  backl 


30* 


LI 


FPOM  THE  COMTESSE  DE  I/ESTORADE  TO  MME.  MARIB 

GASTON 


WHAT  has  become  of  you,  my  dear?  After  two 
years  of  silence,  Renee  may  really  be  excused  for 
growing  anxious  about  Louise.  So  this  is  love!  It 
outweighs  and  utterly  wipes  out  even  such  a  friend- 
ship as  ours.  You'll  admit,  though  my  adoration  for 
my  children  is  greater  than  even  your  love  for  Gaston, 
there  is  a  certain  grandeur  about  the  maternal  feel- 
ing, which  obviates  any  diminution  of  the  other  af- 
fections, and  permits  a  woman  to  continue  a  sincere 
and  devoted  friend.  I  miss  your  letters  and  your 
sweet  charming  face.  I  am  reduced  to  conjecturing 
about  you,  O  Louise! 

As  for  our  own  story,  I'll  tell  it  as  concisely  as  I 
can.  Reading  over  your  last  letter,  I  notice  a  some- 
what tart  remark  as  to  our  political  position.  You 
reproach  us  with  not  having  resigned  the  office  of 
Departmental  Chief  at  the  Audit  Office,  which  we 
owed,  like  the  title  of  Count,  to  the  favour  of  Charles 
X.  But  how  else  —  with  an  income  of  forty  thousand 
francs,  thirty  thousand  of  which  are  settled  on  my 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

eldest  boy — was  I  to  provide  a  suitable  maintenance 
for  Athenais,  and  for  my  poor  little  Rene?  Does  not 
our  only  chance  lie  in  living  on  our  official  income, 
and  carefully  putting  by  whatever  our  landed  prop- 
erty brings  us  in?  In  twenty  years  we  shall  have  laid 
by  some  six  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  will  pro- 
vide fortunes  for  my  daughter  and  for  Rene,  whom  I 
mean  to  send  into  the  navy.  My  poor  little  man  will 
have  ten  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  perhaps  we  may 
be  able  to  leave  him  as  much,  besides,  as  will  make 
his  share  equal  to  his  sister's.  Once  he  is  a  Post' 
Captain,  my  penniless  boy  will  make  a  rich  marriage, 
and  hold  as  good  a  position  in  the  world  as  his  elder 
brother. 

These  considerations  of  prudence  decided  us  to 
accept  the  new  order  of  things.  The  new  dynasty  has, 
very  naturally,  made  Louis  a  Peer  of  France,  and  ap- 
pointed him  a  Grand  Officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honour. 
Once  1'Estorade  had  taken  the  oath,  he  could  not 
well  do  things  by  halves,  and  since  his  adhesion,  he 
has  rendered  valuable  service  to  the  throne  in  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies.  He  has  now  attained  a  posi- 
tion which  he  will  peacefully  enjoy  for  the  remainder 
of  his  days.  He  is  more  of  a  pleasant  speaker  than  an 
orator,  but  that  suffices  for  all  we  want  to  get  out  of 
politics.  His  shrewdness,  his  experience  in  matters 
of  government  and  administration,  are  much  appre- 
ciated, and  he  is  considered  indispensable  by  men  of 
every  party.  I  may  tell  you  that  he  has  lately  been 
offered  an  embassy  and  refused  it,  at  my  instigation. 

304 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

The  education  of  my  children — Armand  is  now  thir- 
teen, and  Athenais  is  nearly  eleven — keeps  me  in 
Paris,  and  I  intend  to  live  there  until  my  little 
Rene's,  which  is  now  just  beginning,  is  completed. 

A  married  couple  that  proposes  to  maintain  its 
allegiance  to  the  elder  branch  and  retire  to  the  coun- 
try on  that  account,  must  not  have  three  children  to 
educate  and  put  out  into  the  world.  A  mother,  my  dear 
love,  must  not  be  a  Decius,  more  especially  at  a  period 
when  a  Decius  is  a  very  uncommon  bird.  In  another 
fifteen  years  TEstorade  will  be  able  to  retire  to  La 
Crampade  on  a  handsome  pension,  and  to  leave  Ar- 
mand here  behind  him  with  the  post  of  Referendary. 
As  for  Rene,  I  have  no  doubt  the  navy  will  turn  him 
into  a  diplomat.  At  the  age  of  seven,  the  little  rogue 
is  as  cunning  as  an  old  cardinal. 

Ah,  Louise,  I  am  a  very  happy  mother.  My  chil- 
dren are  an  endless  joy  to  me.  (Senza  brama  sicura 
richezzaf)  Armand  is  at  the  College  Henri  IV.  I 
settled  he  must  be  educated  in  a  public  establishment, 
and  yet  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  part  with 
him.  So  I  have  done  as  the  Due  d'Orleans  did  before 
he  was  Louis  Philippe,  and,  it  may  have  been,  with  an 
eye  to  the  attainment  of  that  dignity.  Every  morn- 
ing, our  old  man-servant  Lucas,  with  whom  you  are 
acquainted,  takes  Armand  to  the  college  in  time  for 
the  first  class,  and  he  fetches  him  home  again  at  half 
past  four.  An  excellent  elderly  tutor,  who  lives  in 
the  house,  works  with  him  at  night,  and  wakes  him 
every  morning  at  the  hour  when  the  college  pupils 

305 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

leave  their  beds.  Lucas  brings  his  luncheon  to  him  at 
twelve,  when  there  is  a  break  for  play.  Thus,  I  see 
him  at  dinner,  and  before  he  goes  to  bed  at  night,  and 
I  am  there  every  morning  when  he  starts.  Armand 
is  still  the  delightful,  affectionate,  unselfish  boy  of 
whom  you  were  so  fond.  His  tutor  is  very  well  satis- 
fied with  him.  I  have  my  Nais  and  my  little  fellow 
with  me  constantly.  Their  buzzing  never  ceases. 
But  I  am  as  great  a  baby  as  they.  I  have  never  been 
able  to  make  up  my  mind  to  being  deprived  of  the 
sweetness  of  my  dear  children's  caressing  ways.  It  is 
a  necessity  of  my  existence  to  be  able  to  fly  to  Ar- 
mand's  bedside  whenever  I  choose,  to  look  at  him  as 
he  lies  asleep,  to  take,  or  ask,  or  receive  a  kiss  from 
my  darling's  lips. 

Nevertheless,  there  are  drawbacks  to  the  system 
of  bringing  up  children  under  the  paternal  roof,  and 
I  fully  recognise  their  existence.  Society,  like  Na- 
ture, is  jealous,  and  brooks  no  interference  with  its 
laws.  Nor  will  it  permit  any  disturbance  of  its  eternal 
economy.  Thus,  children  who  are  kept  at  home  are 
exposed  to  the  action  of  the  outer  world  at  much  too 
early  an  age.  Incapable  as  they  are  of  divining  the 
distinctions  that  affect  the  behaviour  of  grown-up 
folk,  they  subordinate  everything  to  their  own  feel- 
ings and  passions,  instead  of  subordinating  their  de- 
sires and  requests  to  those  of  other  people.  They 
develop  a  sort  of  false  lustre,  more  showy  than  solid 
virtue — for  the  world  is  apt  to  put  forward  appear- 
ances, and  dress  them  up  in  deceptive  forms.  When  a 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

child  of  fifteen  has  the  assurance  of  a  man  who  knows 
the  world,  he  becomes  a  monster.  He  is  an  old  man 
by  the  time  he  is  five-and-twenty,  and  that  precocious 
knowledge  unfits  him  for  the  genuine  study  on  which 
real  and  serious  talent  must  rely.  Society  is  a  great 
comedian.  Like  a  comedian,  it  receives  and  repro- 
duces everything,  but  it  keeps  nothing.  Therefore, 
the  mother  who  keeps  her  children  at  home,  must 
make  an  unflinching  resolution  to  prevent  them  from 
appearing  in  society;  she  must  have  the  courage  to 
stand  out  against  their  wishes  and  her  own,  and  never 
to  allow  them  to  be  seen.  Cornelia  must  have  kept 
her  jewels  in  a  place  of  safety,  and  I  will  do  the  same; 
for  all  my  life  is  bound  up  in  my  children. 

I  am  thirty  now,  the  sultriest  moment  of  the  day  is 
past,  the  most  difficult  part  of  my  journey  lies  behind 
me.  Before  many  years  are  out,  I  shall  be  an  old 
woman,  and  I  find  immense  strength  in  the  thought 
of  the  duties  I  have  performed.  One  would  fancy 
these  three  little  creatures  realize  my  thought  and 
share  it.  There  is  a  sort  of  mysterious  understanding 
between  me  and  the  children,  who  have  never  been 
parted  from  me.  Indeed,  they  fill  my  existence  with 
delight,  as  though  they  were  conscious  of  all  the  com- 
pensations they  owe  me. 

Armand,  who  for  the  first  three  years  of  his  school 
life  was  slow  and  dreamy,  and  rather  an  anxiety  to  me, 
has  suddenly  taken  a  fresh  turn.  No  doubt  he  has 
realized  the  object  of  these  preparatory  studies — an 
object  children  do  not  always  perceive,  that  of  giving 

30; 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

them  the  habit  of  work,  sharpening  their  intelligence, 
and  inuring  them  to  that  obedience  which  is  the  car- 
dinal principle  of  social  existence.  A  few  days  since, 
my  dear,  I  enjoyed  the  intoxicating  delight  of  seeing 
Armand  a  prize-winner  at  the  general  examination  at 
the  Sorbonne,  at  which  your  godson  was  first  in  trans- 
lation. At  the  College  Henri  Quatre  he  won  two 
first-prizes — one  for  verses,  and  the  other  for  com- 
position. I  felt  myself  turn  white  when  his  name  was 
called,  and  I  longed  to  scream  out,  "  I  am  his  moth- 
er! "  Nais  was  squeezing  my  hand  so  tight  that  she 
would  have  hurt  me  if  I  could  have  felt  anything  at 
such  a  moment.  Ah,  Louise,  such  bliss  as  that  is 
worth  many  hidden  loves! 

His  elder  brother's  success  has  stirred  my  little 
Rene's  ambition,  and  he  longs  to  go  to  college  too. 
Sometimes  the  three  children  make  such  a  noise, 
shouting  and  running  about  the  house,  that  I  don't 
know  how  I  bear  it;  for  I  am  always  with  them.  I 
never  trust  any  one,  not  even  Mary,  to  look  after 
them.  But  there  is  so  much  happiness  to  be  found  in 
the  noble  work  of  motherhood.  To  see  a  child  leave 
its  game  to  kiss  me,  as  if  it  felt  a  sudden  need  of  me — 
what  joy  that  is!  And  then,  here  again  is  one  great 
opportunity  for  watching  them.  One  of  a  mother's 
duties  is  to  discern,  from  their  earliest  age,  the  apti- 
tudes, character,  and  vocation  of  each  child.  This  is 
what  no  schoolmaster  can  do.  Children  who  are 
brought  up  by  their  mothers  all  possess  good  man- 
ners and  the  habits  of  society — two  acquisitions  which 

308 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

may  take  the  place  of  natural  understanding.  Where- 
as natural  understanding  unaided  can  never  replace 
what  men  learn  from  their  mothers  only.  I  can 
recognise  all  these  various  shades  among  the  men  I 
meet  in  society,  and  can  always  detect  the  woman's 
influence  in  a  young  man's  manners.  How  can  any 
mother  deprive  her  child  of  such  advantages?  As  you 
see,  the  duties  I  have  accomplished  yield  me  a  rich 
and  precious  harvest  of  delight. 

Armand,  I  am  perfectly  sure,  will  make  the  most 
excellent  magistrate,  the  most  upright  administrator, 
the  most  conscientious  Deputy  that  ever  was  seen. 
And  my  little  Rene  will  be  the  boldest,  the  most  ad- 
venturous, and  at  the  same  time  the  shrewdest  sailor 
that  ever  lived.  The  little  rogue  has  a  will  of  iron. 
He  gets  everything  he  wants;  he  will  find  his  way 
round  a  thousand  corners  to  reach  his  goal,  and  if  the 
thousandth  trick  avail  him  nothing,  he  will  find  an- 
other. When  dear  Armand  submits  quietly,  and  con- 
siders the  reason  of  everything,  my  Rene  will  storm, 
and  set  his  wits  to  work,  and  try  one  thing  or  another, 
chattering  all  the  while,  till  he  ends  by  discovering 
some  tiny  crack,  and  then  if  he  can  contrive  to  get  so 
much  as  a  knife-blade  into  it,  he'll  end  by  driving  his 
little  carriage  through. 

As  for  Nais,  she  is  so  absolutely  part  of  me  that 
I  can  hardly  distinguish  her  being  from  my  own. 
Ah,  my  darling,  my  little  precious  daughter!  whom  I 
love  to  dress  up,  whose  hair  I  braid  so  fondly,  twisting 
a  loving  thought  into  every  curl.  I  am  resolved  she 

309 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

shall  be  happy.  But,  good  heavens!  when  I  let  her 
deck  herself  out,  when  I  wind  green  ribbons  in  her 
hair,  and  put  on  her  dainty  little  shoes — a  thought 
springs  to  my  heart  and  brain  that  turns  me  almost 
sick.  Can  a  mother  control  her  daughter's  fate?  She 
may  fall  in  love  with  a  man  who  is  not  worthy  of  her. 
It  may  be  that  the  man  she  loves  will  not  love  her. 
Often,  as  I  sit  looking  at  her,  the  tears  come  into  my 
eyes.  Think  what  it  will  be  to  part  with  that  darling 
creature,  that  flower,  that  rose  that  has  blossomed  in 
my  arms  like  a  bud  upon  a  rose-bush,  and  to  give  her 
to  a  man  who  will  carry  her  quite  away  from  me! 
You,  who  in  the  last  two  years  have  never  once  writ- 
ten me  those  three  words,  "  I  am  happy  " — you,  I  say, 
it  is,  who  have  reminded  me  of  the  dramatic  side  of 
marriage,  so  terrible  to  a  mother  whose  maternal  feel- 
ing is  as  intense  as  mine.  Farewell!  for  I  don't  know 
why  I  write  to  you — you  don't  deserve  that  I  should 
love  you.  Ah,  do  let  me  have  an  answer,  my  Louise! 


310 


LIT 

MME.    GASTON   TO    MME.    DE   I/ESTORADB 

THE  CHALET. 

MY  two  years'  silence  has  roused  your  curiosity, 
and  you  wonder  why  I  have  not  written  to  you.  Well, 
my  dearest  Renee,  words,  phrases,  language  itself,  fail 
to  express  my  happiness.  Our  souls  are  strong 
enough  to  bear  it — there,  in  two  words,  you  have  the 
whole  of  my  story.  Not  the  slightest  effort  on  our 
part  is  necessary  to  insure  our  happiness — we  are 
agreed  on  every  subject.  Never  in  these  two  years 
has  there  been  the  slightest  discord  in  the  concert; 
the  smallest  disagreement  in  the  expression  of  our 
feelings;  the  tiniest  difference  in  our  most  trifling  de- 
sires. In  short,  my  dear,  there  has  not  been  one  of 
these  thousand  days  but  has  borne  its  own  special  fruit, 
not  a  moment  that  fancy  has  not  rendered  exquisite. 
Not  only  are  we  certain  now  that  our  life  will  never 
be  monotonous,  but  we  feel  it  will  most  likely  never 
be  wide  enough  to  hold  all  the  poetry  of  our  love — as 
fruitful  as  Nature  herself,  and  just  as  varied.  No,  not 
one  disappointment  have  we  had!  We  love  each 
other  far  more  dearly  than  on  the  first  day,  and  every 
moment  we  discover  fresh  reasons  for  mutual  adora- 
tion. Night  after  night,  we  say  to  each  other,  when 

3" 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

we  take  our  walk  after  dinner,  that  we  must  go  and 
look  at  Paris  out  of  curiosity:  just  as  one  would  say, 
"  I  must  go  and  see  Switzerland." 

"  Why,"  Gaston  will  cry,  "  there's  such  and  such  a 
boulevard  to  see,  and  the  Madeleine  is  finished.  We 
really  must  go  and  look  at  it." 

Pshaw!  when  the  next  morning  comes,  we  stay  in 
bed;  we  breakfast  in  our  room.  By  the  time  twelve 
o'clock  comes,  it  has  grown  hot,  we  allow  ourselves  a 
little  siesta.  Then  he'll  ask  me  to  let  him  look  at  me, 
and  he'll  gaze  at  me  just  as  if  I  were  a  picture.  He  quite 
loses  himself  in  this  contemplation,  which,  as  you  will 
imagine,  is  reciprocal.  Then  the  tears  come  into  our 
eyes,  we  both  think  how  happy  we  are,  and  we  trem- 
ble. I  am  still  his  mistress — in  other  words,  I  seem  to 
love  him  less  than  he  loves  me.  This  illusion  is  de- 
lightful to  me.  There  is  something  so  charming  to 
us  women  in  seeing  sentiment  oversale  desire,  and 
watching  our  master  stop  short  timidly,  just  where  we 
choose  him  to  remain.  You  have  asked  me  to  de- 
scribe him  to  you — but  no  woman,  my  Renee,  can 
draw  a  truthful  picture  of  the  man  she  loves.  And 
then  between  you  and  me,  and  prudery  apart,  we  may 
acknowledge  one  strange  and  melancholy  consequence 
of  our  social  habits.  Nothing  can  be  farther  apart 
than  the  man  who  succeeds  in  society,  and  the  man 
who  makes  a  good  lover.  So  great  is  this  difference, 
that  the  first  may  bear  no  resemblance  whatever  to 
the  second.  The  man  who  will  assume  the  most 
charming  attitude  known  to  the  most  graceful  of 

312 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

dances,  when  he  drops  a  word  of  love  into  a  lady's  ear 
as  they  stand  beside  the  fire-place,  may  not  possess  a 
single  one  of  those  hidden  charms  for  which  every 
woman  longs.  On  the  other  hand,  a  man  who  strikes 
one  as  ugly,  without  charm  of  manner,  clumsily  hud- 
dled into  a  black  evening-suit,  may  possess  the  very 
genius  of  the  lover's  passion,  and  never  look  ridiculous 
at  any  of  those  moments  in  which  we  ourselves,  with 
all  our  external  charm,  may  show  to  disadvantage. 
To  discover  a  man  who  does  possess  that  mysterious 
agreement  between  what  he  is  and  what  he  seems  to 
be,  who,  in  the  secrecy  of  marriage,  displays  that  in- 
nate grace  which  can  not  be  given  or  acquired,  the 
grace  expressed  by  the  ancient  sculptor  in  the  chaste 
and  voluptuous  embraces  of  his  figures — that  innocent 
simplicity  we  find  in  the  antique  poems,  and  which 
even  in  its  nakedness  seems  to  drape  the  soul  with 
modesty — that  great  ideal  which  depends  upon  our- 
selves alone  and  is  bound  up  with  the  law  of  harmony, 
the  guiding  spirit,  doubtless,  of  all  things — that 
mighty  problem,  in  short,  after  which  feminine  fancy, 
hankers  ever  and  always,  finding  its  living  solution 
in  my  Gaston. 

Ah,  dearest,  I  never  knew  before  what  love  and 
youth  and  wit  and  beauty,  all  together,  meant.  My 
Gaston  is  never  affected,  he  is  instinctively  graceful, 
and  makes  no  effort  to  appear  so.  When  we  wan- 
der alone  about  our  woods,  his  arm  clasping  my 
waist,  mine  resting  on  his  shoulder,  our  bodies  close 
together,  and  our  heads  touching,  our  step  is  so 

313 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

equal,  our  movement  so  uniform,  so  gentle,  so  abso- 
lutely alike,  that  any  one  seeing  us  pass  by  would 
take  us  for  a  single  being  gliding  along  the  gravel 
path  like  Homer's  Immortals.  This  harmony  runs 
through  all  our  desires  and  thoughts  and  words. 
Sometimes,  when  the  leaves  are  still  wet  by  a  passing 
shower,  and  the  green  of  the  grass  still  sparkles  with 
rain,  we  have  taken  long  walks  without  ever  uttering 
a  word,  just  listening  to  the  falling  drops  and  admiring 
the  ruddy  sunset  colours  that  lay  smooth  on  the  tree- 
tops  or  broken  on  their  trunks.  At  such  moments, 
truly,  our  thoughts  have  been  a  dim  and  hidden 
prayer,  that  lifted  itself  up  to  heaven,  as  though  to 
excuse  our  happiness. 

Sometimes,  again,  a  cry  will  break  from  us  both, 
at  the  same  moment,  at  the  sight  of  some  sharp  turn 
in  the  woodland  path,  opening  on  an  exquisite  distant 
view.  If  you  only  knew  what  sweetness  and  intensity 
there  is  in  a  kiss  exchanged,  almost  shyly,  in  the 
presence  of  holy  Nature!  ...  it  is  enough  to  make 
one  think  God  had  created  us  on  purpose  to  pray  after 
this  special  fashion,  and  we  always  go  home  more  in 
love  with  each  other  than  ever.  In  Paris,  such  pas- 
sionate love  between  two  married  people  would  ap- 
pear an  insult  to  society.  We  must  live  for  it,  like 
two  lovers,  hidden  in  the  woods. 

Gaston,  my  dear,  is  of  middle  height;  like  almost 
all  vigorous  men,  he  is  neither  fat  nor  thin,  and  very 
well  built;  there  is  a  fulness  in  all  his  proportions;  he 
is  alert  in  all  his  movements,  and  will  bound  over  8 

3H 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

ditch  as  lightly  as  any  wild  creature.  Whatever  may 
be  the  position  in  which  he  finds  himself,  he  has  a 
sort  of  instinct  which  always  makes  him  find  his  bal- 
ance— and  this  is  rare  in  the  case  of  men  who  habitu- 
ally spend  much  time  in  meditation.  Although  he  is 
dark,  his  skin  is  exceedingly  white.  His  hair  is  as 
black  as  jet,  and  contrasts  strongly  with  the  fairness 
of  his  neck  and  forehead.  He  is  very  like  the  sad- 
looking  portraits  of  Louis  XIII.  He  has  let  his  mous- 
tache grow,  and  his  royale  too,  but  I  have  made  him 
shave  his  whiskers  and  beard — everybody  wears  them 
now.  His  blessed  poverty  has  kept  him  pure  from  all 
the  contamination  which  has  ruined  so  many  young 
men.  He  has  magnificent  teeth ;  his  health  is  splendid. 
His  piercing  blue  eyes,  full  of  the  sweetest  fascination 
when  they  fall  cm  me,  light  up  and  blaze  like  a  light- 
ning flash,  when  his  soul  is  stirred.  Like  all  strong 
men  of  powerful  intellect,  he  has  an  equability  of  tem- 
per that  would  surprise  you,  as  it  has  surprised  me. 
I  have  listened  to  many  women's  descriptions  of  their 
home  sorrows — but  all  that  changeableness  and  rest- 
lessness of  the  man  who  is  dissatisfied  with  himself, 
who  either  does  not  choose,  or  does  not  know,  how  to 
grow  old,  whose  life  is  full  of  the  eternal  reproach  of  his 
youthful  follies,  who  carries  poison  In  his  veins,  whose 
eyes  always  have  a  touch  of  sadness  in  them,  who 
scolds  to  hide  his  lack  of  self-reliance,  who  makes  us 
pay  for  one  hour's  peace  with  whole  forenoons  of  mis- 
ery, who  avenges  his  own  incapacity  for  being  lovable 
upon  his  wife,  and  nurses  a  secret  spite  against  her 

Vol.    2 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

charms — all  these  discomforts  are  unknown  to  youth. 
They  are  the  proper  attributes  of  ill-proportioned 
unions.  Oh,  my  dear  soul,  mind  you  marry  Athenais 
to  a  young  man.  If  you  only  know  how  I  feed  on  that 
constant  smile  that  varies  never-endingly  with  every 
turn  of  a  keen  and  delicate  intelligence — a  speaking 
smile,  with  thoughts  of  love  and  silent  gratitude,  hov- 
ering at  the  corners  of  the  lips — a  smile  that  is  a  per- 
petual bond  between  our  past  and  present  joys.  Never 
is  anything  forgotten  between  us.  We  have  taken 
the  smallest  of  Nature's  works  into  the  secret  of 
our  happiness.  Everything  in  these  delicious  woods 
lives  and  speaks  to  us  of  ourselves.  An  old  moss- 
covered  oak,  close  to  the  keeper's  house  on  the  road, 
reminds  us  that  once,  when  we  were  tired,  we  sat  down 
under  its  shade,  that  Gaston  told  me  about  the  mosses 
growing  at  our  feet,  explained  their  history  to  me,  and 
that  from  those  mosses  we  worked  upward,  from  one 
science  to  another,  till  we  reached  the  ends  of  the 
world.  There  is  something  so  fraternal  in  our  two 
minds,  that  I  think  we  must  be  two  editions  of  the 
same  work.  You'll  notice  I  have  grown  literary.  We 
both  of  us  have  the  habit  or  the  gift  of  grasping  the 
whole  of  a  matter,  and  seeing  all  its  meaning,  and  the 
proof  we  constantly  afford  ourselves  of  this  clearness 
of  our  mental  vision  is  an  ever-new  delight  to  us. 
We  have  reached  the  point  of  regarding  this  mental 
agreement  as  an  evidence  of  our  love,  and  if  ever  it 
were  to  fail  us,  that  failure  would  affect  us  as  an  act* 
if  unfaithfulness  another  couple  would  affect. 

316 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

My  life,  full  of  joys  as  it  is,  would  strike  you,  no 
doubt,  as  very  laborious.  In  the  first  place,  my  dear, 
let  me  tell  you  that  Louise  Armande  Marie  de  Chau- 
Heu  keeps  her  own  room  in  order.  I  could  never  allow 
any  paid  servant,  any  strange  woman  or  girl,  to  learn 
the  secrets  (literary  woman  again)  of  my  private  and 
personal  arrangements.  My  scruples  extend  to  the 
most  trifling  of  the  matters  indispensable  to  the  prac- 
tice of  my  religion.  This  is  not  jealousy,  but  simple 
self-respect.  And  everything  about  my  room  is  kept 
with  all  the  care  that  a  young  girl  in  love  lavishes 
upon  her  own  adornment.  I  am  as  particular  as  any 
old  maid.  Instead  of  being  a  chaos,  my  dressing- 
room  is  a  delightful  boudoir.  My  care  has  provided 
for  every  possibility.  My  sovereign  lord  can  enter 
whenever  he  chooses.  Never  is  anything  to  be  seen 
that  might  distress,  astound,  or  disenchant  him. 
Everything  in  the  room — flowers,  perfume,  dainty 
refinement  of  all  kinds — delights  the  senses.  At  day- 
break every  morning,  while  he  is  still  sound  asleep, 
and  without  his  ever  having  found  it  out,  so  far,  I 
get  up.  I  slip  into  my  dressing-room,  and  there,  with 
a  skill  I  owe  to  my  mother's  experience,  I  remove 
every  trace  of  slumber  by  a  liberal  application  of  cold 
water.  While  we  sleep  the  skin  is  less  active,  and  its 
work  less  thoroughly  performed.  It  gets  heated,  there 
is  a  fog  upon  it,  a  sort  of  atmosphere  that  the  eye  of 
the  tiniest  insect  might  detect.  Under  her  streaming 
sponges  the  woman  is  transformed  into  a  girl  once 
more.  My  bath  indues  me  with  all  the  fascinating 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

graces  of  the  dawn.  I  comb  out  and  perfume  my  hair, 
and  after  this  careful  toilet,  I  slip  back  like  a  mouse, 
so  that  when  my  master  wakes  he  may  find  me  as  fresh 
as  a  spring  morning.  This  way  I  have  of  blooming  in 
the  morning,  like  a  newly  opened  flower,  delights  him, 
though  he  has  never  been  able  to  discover  its  cause. 
My  dressing  for  the  day,  which  is  done  later,  is  my 
maid's  concern,  and  takes  place  in  a  room  set  apart 
for  the  purpose.  I  make  another  toilet,  as  you  may 
suppose,  before  I  go  to  bed.  Thus  every  day  I  make 
three  for  my  lord  and  husband,  and  sometimes  four — 
but  this,  my  dear,  is  connected  with  quite  different 
myths  of  antiquity. 

We  have  our  occupations  as  well.  We  take  a  deep 
interest  in  our  flowers,  in  the  beautiful  treasures  of 
our  greenhouses,  and  in  our  trees.  We  are  serious 
botanists,  passionately  devoted  to  our  flowers — and 
the  chalet  is  full  of  them.  Our  lawns  are  always  green, 
our  flower-beds  are  as  carefully  kept  as  those  in  the 
gardens  of  the  richest  banker  in  the  world,  and  really 
nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than  our  grounds.  We 
are  excessively  devoted  to  our  fruit,  and  we  watch 
our  Montreuil  peaches,  our  forcing  pits,  our  espaliers, 
and  our  standards.  But  fearing  these  country  inter- 
ests might  not  satisfy  the  intellectual  requirements  of 
the  man  I  adore,  I  have  advised  him  to  take  advantage 
of  the  silence  of  our  solitude  to  finish  some  of  the 
plays — really  fine  compositions — he  began  to  write  in 
the  days  of  his  poverty. 

This  is  the  only  kind  of  literary  work  which  bears 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

taking  up,  and  laying  aside,  for  it  needs  prolonged 
reflection,  and  does  not  require  the  polish  indispen- 
sable to  style.  Dialogue  is  not  a  thing  that  can  be 
written  always;  it  must  be  spontaneous,  it  demands 
conciseness,  and  flashes  of  wit,  which  the  mind  puts 
forth  just  as  plants  put  forth  their  flowers,  and 
which  must  be  waited  on  rather  than  sought.  This 
pursuit  of  ideas  just  suits  me,  I  am  Gaston's  collabo- 
rator, and  thus  I  never  leave  him,  even  in  his  wander- 
ings athwart  the  wide  field  of  fancy.  Now  you  guess 
how  I  get  through  our  winter  evenings.  Our  service 
is  so  light,  that  since  our  marriage  we  have  never  had 
to  say  one  word  of  reproach,  or  fault-finding  to  any 
of  our  servants.  When  they  have  been  asked  ques- 
tions about  us,  they  have  been  sharp  enough  to  im- 
pose upon  their  questioners,  and  have  passed  us  off 
as  the  companion  and  secretary  of  their  employers, 
who,  they  have  declared,  are  away  on  a  journey. 
Knowing  full  well  that  permission  will  never  be  re- 
fused, they  never  go  out  without  asking  leave,  and 
besides,  they  are  comfortable,  and  quite  aware  that 
nothing  but  their  own  misdoing  will  alter  their  posi- 
tion. The  gardeners  have  leave  to  sell  the  fruit  and 
vegetables  we  do  not  want;  the  dairy- woman  does  the 
same  with  the  milk  and  cream  and  fresh  butter,  only 
the  best  of  everything  is  kept  for  us.  The  servants 
are  all  delighted  with  their  profits,  and  we  are  en- 
chanted with  the  abundance  we  enjoy  and  which  no 
wealth  can  possibly  procure  in  that  dreadful  Paris, 
where  every  fine  peach  costs  you  the  interest  on  a 

3*9 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

hundred  francs.  There  is  a  meaning,  my  dear,  in  all 
this!  I  must  be  the  whole  world  to  Gaston.  Now  the 
world  is  amusing,  and  therefore  my  husband  must 
not  be  bored  in  his  solitude.  I  fancied  I  was  jealous 
in  the  days  when  I  was  loved  and  allowed  myself  to 
be  loved.  But  now  I  know  the  jealousy  of  the  woman 
who  loves — real  jealousy,  in  fact,  and  any  glance  of 
his  that  strikes  me  as  careless  sets  me  trembling. 
Every  now  and  then  I  say  to  myself,  "  Supposing  he 
didn't  love  me  any  more! "  and  I  shudder.  Oh,  in- 
deed, I  adore  him,  even  as  a  Christian  soul  adores  the 
Deity. 

Alas,  my  Renee,  I  am  still  childless.  The  moment 
will  come  some  day,  no  doubt,  when  this  retreat  will 
need  the  cheering  influence  of  parental  love,  when  we 
shall  both  of  us  long  to  see  little  frocks  and  coats  and 
little  heads,  dark-haired  or  golden,  dancing  and  trot- 
ting among  our  garden-beds  and  along  our  flowery 
paths.  Oh,  there  is  something  monstrous  about  flow- 
ers that  bear  no  fruit!  The  thought  of  your  beautiful 
children  is  painful  to  me.  My  life  has  narrowed,  while 
yours  has  grown  and  spread  itself  abroad.  Love  is 
profoundly  selfish,  but  maternity  tends  to  widen  all 
our  feelings.  I  felt  this  difference  deeply,  as  I  read 
your  dear  and  loving  letter.  I  envied  your  happiness, 
when  I  saw  how  you  lived  again  in  three  other  hearts. 
Yes,  you  are  happy;  you  have  faithfully  fulfilled  the 
laws  of  social  existence,  whereas  I  stand  outside  all 
that.  Nothing  but  loved  and  loving  children  can 
console  a  woman  for  the  loss  of  her  beauty.  Soon  I 

520 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

shall  be  thirty,  and  at  that  age  a  woman  begins  at 
course  of  terrible  internal  lamentation.  Beautiful  as 
I  still  am,  the  limits  of  feminine  existence  are  within 
my  sight — what  will  become  of  me  after  I  have 
reached  them?  When  I  am  forty,  he  will  not  be  forty. 
He  will  still  be  young;  I  shall  be  old.  When  that 
thought  strikes  my  heart,  I  spend  a  whole  hour  at 
his  feet,  making  him  swear  to  me  that  the  moment  he 
feels  the  slightest  diminution  of  his  love  for  me,  he  will 
tell  me  instantly.  But  he's  a  child!  He  swears  it  to 
me  as  though  his  love  were  never  to  grow  less,  and 
he's  so  beautiful  that  .  .  .  you  understand,  I  believe 
him.  Farewell,  my  dearest  love!  Will  it  be  years 
again  before  we  write  to  each  other?  Happiness  is 
very  monotonous  in  its  expression.  Perhaps  it  is  be- 
cause of  this  difficulty  that  Dante  strikes  loving  souls 
as  being  greater  in  his  Paradiso  than  in  his  Inferno. 
I  am  not  Dante,  I  am  only  your  friend,  and  I  do  not 
want  to  bore  you.  But  you,  you  can  write  to  me. 
For  in  your  children  you  possess  a  varied  and  con- 
stantly increasing  happiness,  whereas  mine.  .  .  . 
We'll  say  no  more  about  it.  I  send  you  a  thousand 
loves. 


321 


LIII 

FROM   MME.    DE   I/ESTORADE   TO   MME.   GASTON 

MY  DEAR  LOUISE:  I've  read  and  reread  your 
letter,  and  the  more  I  ponder  it  the  more  I  feel  that 
there  is  less  of  the  woman  than  of  the  child  in  you. 
You  have  not  altered,  you  have  forgotten  what  I  have 
told  you  over  and  over  again — Love  is  a  theft  practised 
on  the  natural  by  the  social  state.  It  is  so  essentially 
short-lived  that  the  resources  of  society  cannot  alter 
its  primitive  conditions.  Every  noble  soul  essays  to 
turn  the  child  into  a  man,  but  then  love  becomes 
what  you  yourself  have  called  it — a  monstrosity.  So- 
ciety, my  dear,  desired  fecundity,  and  when  it  sub- 
stituted enduring  feeling  for  the  evanescent  passion 
of  Nature,  it  created  the  greatest  of  all  human  in- 
stitutions, the  Family — which  is  the  eternal  basis 
of  social  existence.  Both  man  and  woman  are  sacri- 
ficed to  this  object — for,  let  us  not  deceive  ourselves, 
the  father  of  the  family  bestows  his  activity,  his 
strength,  and  all  his  fortune,  on  his  wife.  Is  it  not  the 
wife  who  enjoys  the  benefit  of  almost  every  sacrifice? 
Are  not  luxury  and  wealth  almost  wholly  spent  on  her 
who  is  the  glory  and  the  elegance,  the  sweetness  and 

322 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

the  beauty  of  the  household?  Oh,  my  dearest,  you 
are  making  another  great  mistake  about  your  life. 
The  idea  of  being  adored  is  very  well  for  two  or  three 
spring-times  in  the  life  of  a  young  girl,  but  it  is  quite 
inappropriate  to  the  woman  who  is  a  wife  and  mother. 
A  woman's  vanity  may  be  satisfied  when  she  knows 
she  can  make  herself  adored.  If  you  would  be  mother 
as  well  as  wife,  come  back  to  Paris.  Let  me  tell 
you  again,  that  you  will  ruin  yourself  by  happiness, 
just  as  many  others  are  ruined  by  misfortune.  Those 
things  which  do  not  weary  us,  such  as  silence,  and 
bread,  and  air,  are  void  of  reproach  because  they  are 
void  of  taste.  Whereas  strong-tasting  things,  which 
excite  desire,  all  end  by  jading  it.  Hear  me,  dear 
child!  Even  if  it  were  possible  for  me  now  to  be  loved 
by  a  man  for  whom  I  felt  the  love  you  bear  Gaston,  I 
would  still  be  faithful  to  my  beloved  duty  and  my 
sweet  children.  To  a  woman's  heart,  my  dearest, 
motherhood  is  a  simple,  natural,  fruitful  thing,  as  in- 
exhaustible as  those  which  constitute  the  elements 
of  existence.  I  remember  that  one  day,  nearly  four- 
teen years  ago,  I  embraced  a  life  of  sacrifice  in  sheer 
despair,  just  as  a  drowning  man  clings  to  the  mast  of 
his  ship.  But  now,  when  my  memory  calls  up  all  my 
life  before  me,  I  would  still  choose  that  idea  to  be  the 
guiding  principle  of  my  life,  for  it  is  the  safest  and 
most  fruitful  of  all.  The  thought  of  your  life,  founded 
on  the  most  utter  selfishness,  in  spite  of  its  being  hid- 
den under  poetic  sentiment,  has  strengthened  my  reso- 
lution. I  shall  never  say  these  things  to  you  again, 

323 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

but  I  felt  obliged  to  speak  of  them  this  last  time,  when 
I  learnt  that  your  happiness  is  still  holding  out  against 
the  most  terrible  of  tests. 

I  have  thought  over  your  life  in  the  country,  and 
this  further  remark,  which  I  think  it  right  to  put 
before  you,  has  suggested  itself  to  me.  Our  life,  both 
as  regards  the  body  and  the  heart,  consists  of  certain 
regular  movements.  Any  overstraining  of  the  mech- 
jnism  brings  either  pleasure  or  pain.  Now  both 
pleasure  and  suffering  are  a  fever  of  the  soul,  essen- 
tially transitory,  because  it  would  not  be  possible  to 
bear  it  long.  Surely,  to  live  in  nothing  but  excess  is 
to  live  a  life  of  sickness.  Your  life  is  a  sick  life, 
because  you  force  to  a  perpetual  height  of  passion  a 
feeling  which  marriage  should  turn  into  a  pure  and 
steady  principle.  Yes,  my  dearest,  I  see  it  clearly 
now,  the  glory  of  the  household  lies  in  that  very  calm, 
that  deep  mutual  understanding,  that  exchange  of 
good  and  evil,  at  which  the  vulgar  scoff.  Oh,  how 
fine  is  that  saying  of  the  Duchesse  de  Sully,  the  wife 
of  the  great  Sully,  when  she  was  told  her  husband, 
grave  as  he  looked,  had  not  scrupled  to  take  a  mis- 
tress! 

"  That's  very  simple,"  she  replied.  "  I  am  the 
honour  of  this  house,  and  should  be  very  sorry  to  play 
the  part  of  a  courtesan  within  it." 

You  are  more  voluptuous  than  fond;  you  would 
fain  be  wife  and  mistress  at  once.  You  have  the  soul 
of  Heloise  and  the  senses  of  St.  Theresa;  you  indulge 
in  excesses  which  are  sanctioned  by  law,  and,  in  a 

324 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

word,  you  deprave  the  institution  of  marriage.  Yes, 
you  who  judged  me  so  severely  for  my  apparent  im- 
morality in  accepting,  on  the  very  eve  of  my  marriage, 
the  means  of  happiness  presented  to  me,  you  who 
have  bent  everything  to  your  own  purposes,  now  de- 
serve the  reproaches  you  then  cast  on  me.  What! 
you  claim  to  subject  both  Nature  and  Society  to  your 
whim?  You  remain  yourself,  you  never  transform 
yourself  into  what  a  woman  should  do,  you  keep  your 
young  girl's  wilfulness  and  unreasonableness,  and  you 
apply  the  most  careful  and  mercantile  calculation  to 
your  passion.  Don't  you  charge  a  very  heavy  price 
for  all  those  trappings  of  yours?  These  numerous  pre- 
cautions strike  me  as  symptomatic  of  a  very  deep  dis- 
trust. Oh,  dear  Louise,  if  you  could  only  know  the 
sweetness  a  mother  finds  in  her  endeavour  to  be  good 
and  tender  to  every  member  of  her  family!  All  my 
natural  pride  and  independence  have  melted  into  a 
gentle  melancholy  which  the  joys  of  motherhood  have 
first  rewarded  and  then  dispelled.  If  the  morning  of 
my  day  has  been  troubled,  the  evening  will  be  clear 
and  tranquil.  I  fear  me,  it  may  be  quite  the  contrary 
with  your  life. 

When  I  had  come  to  the  end  of  your  letter  I 
prayed  to  God  that  he  might  send  you  to  spend  one 
day  among  us,  so  that  you  may  be  converted  to  family 
life  and  all  its  joys,  unspeakable,  incessant,  never- 
ending,  because  they  are  true,  simple,  and  eminently 
natural.  But  alas!  how  can  my  reasoning  avail 
against  a  mistake  in  which  you  find  happiness?  The 

325 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

tears  stand  in  my  eyes  as  I  write  these  last  lines.  I 
had  honestly  believed  that  after  a  few  months  devoted 
to  your  conjugal  passion,  satiety  would  bring  you 
back  to  reason.  But  now  I  see  you  are  insatiable,  and 
that  after  having  killed  one  lover,  you  will  end  by  kill- 
ing love  itself.  Farewell,  dear  wanderer!  I  have  lost 
all  hope,  since  the  letter  which  I  hoped  would  have 
lured  you  back  to  social  life,  by  its  description  of  my 
happiness,  has  only  served  to  glorify  your  selfishness. 
For  your  love  is  nothing  but  your  own  self,  and  you 
love  Gaston  much  more  for  your  own  sake  than  for 
bis. 


335 


LIV 

FROM  MME.  GASTON  TO  THE  COMTESSE  DE  I/ESTORADR 

May  sot k. 

REN£E:  It  has  come!  disaster  has  fallen  like  a 
thunderbolt  on  your  poor  Louise,  and — you'll  under- 
stand the  feeling — doubt  to  me  dispels  disaster,  cer- 
tainty will  bring  me  death.  The  day  before  yesterday, 
after  my  early  toilet,  I  hunted  everywhere  for  Gaston 
to  take  a  little  walk  with  me  before  breakfast  He 
was  nowhere  to  be  found.  I  went  into  the  stable-yard 
and  saw  his  mare  covered  with  sweat — the  groom  was 
scraping  the  flecks  of  foam  with  a  knife,  before  rub- 
bing her  down. 

"  Who  on  earth  has  brought  home  Fedelta  in  such 
a  state?  "said  I. 

"  My  master,"  replied  the  boy.  Looking  at  the 
mare's  hocks,  I  saw  they  were  covered  with  Paris  mud 
— it  is  not  in  the  least  like  country  mud. 

"  He's  been  to  Paris,"  thought  I. 

The  idea  sent  a  thousand  others  surging  through 
tty  brain,  and  drove  all  my  blood  back  to  my  heart. 
To  go  to  Paris  without  telling  me,  to  choose  the  hour 
when  I  leave  him  alone;  to  rush  there  and  back  so 
Quickly  as  almost  to  knock  up  his  horse — the  terrible 

327 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

suspicion  tightened  round  me  till  I  almost  choked.  I 
moved  away  to  a  seat  a  few  steps  off,  and  tried  to  re- 
cover my  self-possession.  There  Gaston  came  upon 
me  looking  pallid  and  appalling,  as  it  seems,  for  he 
cried  out  "  What's  the  matter?  "  so  suddenly,  and 
his  voice  was  so  full  of  alarm,  that  I  rose  to  my  feet 
and  took  his  arm.  But  the  strength  had  gone  out  of 
my  joints,  and  I  was  obliged  to  sit  down  again.  Then 
he  took  me  up  in  his  arms  and  carried  me  to  the  par- 
lour close  by,  whither  all  our  frightened  servants  fol- 
lowed us;  but  Gaston  dismissed  them  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand.  After  we  were  left  alone,  I  was  able  to  get 
to  our  room — I  would  not  say  a  word — and  there  I 
shut  myself  up  to  weep  in  peace.  For  a  good  two 
hours  Gaston  waited  outside  the  door,  listening  to 
my  sobs,  and  with  the  patience  of  an  angel,  putting 
one  question  after  another  to  his  creature,  who  gave 
him  no  reply.  At  last  I  said,  "  I  will  see  you  again 
when  my  eyes  are  not  red,  and  when  my  voice  is 
steady." 

The  second  person  plural  which  I  had  used,  sent 
him  rushing  out  of  the  house.  I  fetched  cold  water 
and  bathed  my  eyes,  I  cooled  my  face,  the  door  of 
our  room  opened,  and  there  I  found  him.  He  had 
come  back,  without  my  having  heard  his  footsteps. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  I  said.  "  I  recognised  the  Paris  mud 
on  Fedelta's  tired  hocks;  I  could  not  understand  your 
going  there  without  telling  me,  but  you  are  free." 

"  Your  punishment  for  your  wicked  doubts,"  he 
328 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

answered,  "  shall  be  not  to  know  what  my  reason  was 
until  to-morrow." 

"  Look  at  me,"  I  said. 

I  fastened  my  eyes  on  his,  the  infinite  passed  into 
the  infinite.  No,  there  was  no  sign  of  that  cloud 
which  unfaithfulness  must  cast  over  the  soul,  which 
must  dim  the  clearness  of  a  man's  eyes.  I  pretended 
to  be  satisfied,  though  I  was  still  anxious — for  men 
can  deceive  and  lie  as  well  as  women.  We  remained 
together.  Oh,  dearest,  as  I  looked  at  him  now  and 
again  I  thought  how  indissolubly  bound  I  was  to  him. 
What  an  internal  tremor  shook  me,  when  he  returned 
after  leaving  me  alone  for  one  short  moment.  My 
life  is  all  in  him,  not  in  myself.  I  have  given  the  lie  in 
cruel  fashion  to  your  cruel  letter.  Did  I  ever  feel  this 
sense  of  dependence  on  that  noble-hearted  Spaniard 
to  whom  I  was  just  what  this  terrible  boy  is  to  me? 
How  I  hate  that  mare!  What  an  idiot  I  was  to  keep 
horses!  But  then  I  should  have  to  cut  off  Gaston's 
feet,  and  keep  him  tied  up  in  the  cottage.  You  will 
conceive  my  demented  condition  when  I  tell  you  that 
such  silly  thoughts  as  these  were  in  my  mind.  If  love 
has  not  caged  him,  no  power  will  ever  restrain  a  man 
who  is  bored. 

"  Do  I  bore  you?  "  said  I  to  him  suddenly. 

"  How  you  do  torment  yourself  for  no  reason  at 
all! "  he  answered,  and  his  eyes  were  full  of  gentle 
pity.  "  You  never  have  been  so  dear  to  me." 

"  If  that's  true,  my  dearest  angel,"  I  answeredt 
"letmesellFedelta." 

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The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

"  Sell  her!  "  he  replied. 

The  answer  crushed  me.  It  was  as  if  Gaston  had 
said  to  me,  "  All  the  money  here  is  yours — I  am  noth- 
ing, my  will  has  no  weight."  If  he  did  not  think  it, 
I  fancied  he  thought  it,  and  once  more  I  left  him  to 
go  to  bed.  Night  had  fallen. 

Oh,  Renee,  in  silence  and  solitude,  one's  thoughts 
play  havoc,  and  lead  one  on  to  suicide.  The  exqui- 
site gardens,  the  starry  night,  the  cool  breeze  laden 
with  the  perfume  of  all  our  flowers,  the  valleys,  the 
hills,  were  all  gloomy  and  black  and  dreary  to  me.  I 
felt  as  if  I  were  lying  at  the  foot  of  a  precipice,  with  ven- 
omous snakes  crawling  over  me,  and  poisonous  plants 
about  me.  I  could  see  no  God  in  the  heaven  above 
me.  Such  a  night  ages  a  woman  by  years  and  years. 

The  next  morning  I  said  to  him:  "  Take  Fedelta 
and  ride  away  to  Paris.  Don't  let  us  sell  her,  I  am 
fond  of  her:  she  carried  you."  Yet  he  did  not  misun- 
derstand the  tone  of  my  voice,  which  betrayed  the 
hidden  fury  I  was  striving  to  conceal. 

"  Trust  me,"  he  answered,  and  he  held  out  his 
hand  with  such  a  noble  gesture  and  cast  such  a  noble 
glance  at  me,  that  I  felt  myself  humbled  to  the  dust. 

"  We  women  are  all  poor  creatures,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  No,  you  love  me — that's  all,"  he  said,  as  he 
pressed  me  to  his  breast. 

"  Go  to  Paris  without  me,"  I  said,  and  I  made  him 
understand  that  I  had  put  all  my  suspicions  away. 

He  went;  I  thought  he  would  have  stayed.  I 
won't  attempt  to  describe  my  misery.  I  found  there 

330 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

was  a  being  within  me,  the  possibility  of  whose  exist- 
ence I  had  never  realized.  To  begin  with,  my  dear, 
these  sort  of  scenes  possess  an  indescribably  tragic 
solemnity  for  a  woman  who  loves;  the  whole  of  life 
appears  to  her  in  that  silent  moment,  and  no  horizon 
bounds  the  view.  A  trifle  becomes  everything,  there 
are  volumes  in  a  look,  icebergs  swirl  down  the  stream 
of  speech,  and  in  one  movement  of  the  lips  she  may 
read  her  death-warrant.  I  had  expected  some  re- 
turn, for  surely  I  had  proved  myself  noble  and  great- 
hearted. 

I  went  up  on  to  the  roof  of  the  chalet;  I  watched 
him  pass  along  the  road.  Ah,  my  dear  Renee,  I  saw 
him  disappear  with  a  swiftness  that  agonized  me. 

"What  a  hurry  he  is  in!"  was  my  involuntary 
thought. 

Then,  when  I  was  left  alone,  I  fell  back  into  a 
hell  of  hypothesis  and  a  whirlpool  of  suspicion.  There 
were  moments  when  the  certainty  of  his  treachery 
seemed  to  me  a  blessing,  compared  with  the  horrors 
of  doubt.  Doubt  is  a  duel  fought  within  the  soul, 
which  causes  horrid  self-inflicted  wounds.  I  went  out, 
I  walked  about  the  paths,  and  back  to  the  chalet,  and 
out  of  it  again,  like  a  mad-woman.  Gaston,  who  had 
started  about  seven  o'clock,  did  not  come  back  until 
eleven,  and  as  it  only  takes  half  an  hour  to  go  to 
Paris  through  the  Park  of  St.  Cloud  and  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne,  he  must  have  spent  three  hours  in  the  city. 
He  arrived  in  triumph,  bringing  me  an  India-rubber 
riding-whip  with  a  gold  head.  I  have  had  no  riding- 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young   Brides 

whip  for  the  last  fortnight,  having  broken  mine,  which 
was  old  and  worn  out. 

"  Is  it  for  this  that  you  have  been  torturing  me?  " 
I  inquired,  as  I  admired  the  workmanship  of  the 
trinket,  the  handle  of  which  contains  a  scent-box. 

Then  I  realized  that  this  gift  concealed  a  fresh 
piece  of  duplicity.  But  I  threw  my  arms  quickly 
about  his  neck,  and  reproached  him- tenderly  for  hav- 
ing caused  me  so  much  misery  about  a  trifle.  He 
thought  himself  very  clever,  and  then  in  his  demean- 
our and  his  looks  I  recognised  that  sort  of  hidden  joy 
which  every  one  feels  over  a  successful  piece  of  trick- 
ery— a  kind  of  flash  of  satisfaction  and  gleam  of  con- 
scious cleverness,  which  is  reflected  on  the  features  and 
revealed  in  every  movement  of  the  body.  Still  looking 
at  the  pretty  bauble,  I  inquired,  at  a  moment  when  his 
eyes  could  not  escape  mine,  "  From  whom  did  you 
get  this  work  of  art?  " 

"  From  one  of  my  friends,  an  artist." 

"  Indeed!  I  see  Verdier  mounted  it,"  and  I  read 
the  name  of  the  shop  which  was  stamped  upon  the 
whip. 

Gaston  is  still  very  young.  He  coloured ;  I  heaped 
endearments  on  him,  to  reward  him  for  having  been 
ashamed  of  deceiving  me.  I  played  the  simpleton, 
and  he  fancied  the  whole  thing  had  blown  over. 

May  25th. 

The  next  day,  toward  six  o'clock,  I  put  on  my 
riding-habit,  and  at  seven  o'clock  I  dropped  in  at. 

332 


The  Memoirs  of   Two  Young  Brides 

Verdier's,  where  I  saw  several  whips  of  the  same  pat- 
tern. One  of  the  shopmen  recognised  mine,  which  I 
showed  him.  "  We  sold  that  yesterday  to  a  young 
gentleman,"  he  said,  and  when  I  described  that  im- 
postor Gaston  to  him,  there  was  no  further  doubt 
about  the  matter. 

I'll  spare  you  any  description  of  the  palpitations 
that  half  choked  me  as  I  rode  to  Paris,  and  during 
this  little  scene,  on  which  the  fate  of  my  life  hung.  By 
half  past  seven  o'clock  I  was  back  again  and  Gaston 
found  me  walking  about  in  a  fresh  morning-gown 
armed  with  a  most  deceitful  appearance  of  indiffer- 
ence, and  certain  that  the  secret  of  my  absence,  of 
which  no  one  but  my  old  Philippe  was  aware,  would 
never  be  betrayed. 

"  Gaston,"  I  said,  as  we  strolled  round  the  lake, 
"  I  am  quite  well  aware  of  the  difference  between  a 
work  of  art  which  love  has  procured  as  an  offering  for 
a  particular  person,  and  a  thing  which  is  merely  one  of 
many  cast  in  a  mould." 

Gaston  turned  pale  and  looked  at  me,  as  I  held 
out  the  terrible  proof  that  convicted  him.  "  My 
friend,"  I  said,  "  this  is  no  riding-whip,  this  is  a  screen 
behind  which  you  are  hiding  some  secret." 

Thereupon,  my  dear,  I  allowed  myself  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  him  lose  his  way  hopelessly,  in  masses  of  lies 
and  labyrinths  of  falsehood,  making  extraordinary 
efforts  to  discover  some  wall  that  he  might  scale,  but 
forced  to  stand  his  ground  and  face  an  adversary  who 
ended  by  deliberately  allowing  herself  to  be  deceived. 

333 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

As  in  all  such  scenes,  this  complaisance  came  too 
late,  and  besides,  I  had  fallen  into  the  mistake  against 
•which  my  mother  had  endeavoured  to  warn  me. 
When  my  jealousy  showed  itself  openly,  war,  with  all 
its  stratagems,  was  declared  between  Gaston  and  me. 
My  dear,  jealousy  is  an  essentially  stupid  and  brutish 
passion.  I  made  up  my  mind  I  would  suffer  in  silence, 
spy  out  everything,  make  quite  certain,  and  then 
either  have  done  with  Gaston  forever,  or  consent  to 
my  own  misery;  no  other  line  of  conduct  is  possible 
for  a  well-bred  woman.  What  is  it  he  is  hiding  from 
me?  for  he  is  hiding  some  secret  from  me.  It  is  some 
secret  about  a  woman.  Is  it  some  youthful  liaison  of 
which  he  is  ashamed?  What  can  it  be?  That  what, 
my  dear,  is  written  in  four  letters  of  fire  on  everything 
I  see.  I  read  the  fatal  word  on  the  glassy  surface  of 
my  lake,  upon  my  shrubberies,  upon  my  flower-beds, 
in  the  clouds  above  me,  on  the  ceiling,  on  the  dining- 
table,  Oil  the  pattern  of  my  carpet.  In  the  midst  of 
my  slumbers,  I  hear  a  voice  that  crys  out,  "  What?  " 
Ever  since  that  morning  a  cruel  interest  has  been 
added  to  my  life,  and  I  have  known  the  bitterest 
thoughts  that  can  corrode  a  woman's  heart — the 
thought  that  I  belong  to  a  man  whom  I  believe  to 
be  unfaithful.  Oh,  my  dear,  this  life  of  mine  touches 
both  heaven  and  hell.  Never  before  have  I  set  my 
foot  within  this  furnace — I,  who  have  always  been 
held  in  such  holy  adoration. 

"  Ah,"  said  I  to  myself  just  now,  "  there  was  a 
day  when  you  wished  you  might  find  your  way  into 

334 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

the  cruel  and  gloomy  halls  of  suffering.  Well,  the 
fiends  have  heard  your  fatal  wish.  Forward  then, 
wretched  woman! " 

Mayjoth. 

Ever  since  that  day,  Gaston,  instead  of  working 
easily  and  deliberately  like  a  rich  man  who  can  afford 
to  play  with  his  work,  sets  himself  tasks,  like  the  au- 
thor who  lives  by  his  pen.  He  devotes  four  hours  a 
day  to  finishing  off  two  plays. 

He  is  in  need  of  money! 

An  inner  voice  breathed  this  thought  into  my  ear. 
He  spends  hardly  anything.  There  is  no  concealment 
between  us.  There  is  not  a  corner  of  his  study  which 
is  not  open  to  my  eyes  and  ringers.  His  yearly  ex- 
penses do  not  amount  to  two  thousand  francs.  I 
know  he  has  thirty  thousand,  not  so  much  laid  by  as 
thrown  into  a  drawer.  You  will  have  guessed  my 
thoughts.  In  the  middle  of  the  night  when  he  was 
fast  asleep,  I  got  up  and  went  to  see  whether  the 
money  was  still  there.  A  cold  shiver  shook  me  when 
I  saw  the  drawer  was  empty.  That  same  week  I  dis- 
covered that  he  goes  and  fetches  letters  at  Sevres, 
and  he  must  tear  them  up  the  moment  he  has  read 
them,  for  in  spite  of  all  my  cunning  I  have  never  been 
able  to  find  even  a  vestige  of  one.  Alas!  my  dearest, 
in  spite  of  my  promises,  in  spite  of  all  the  fine  vows 
I  had  made  to  myself  about  the  whip,  an  impulse 
which  can  only  have  been  a  sort  of  madness  seized  me, 
and  I  followed  him  on  one  of  his  hasty  expeditions  to 
the  post-office.  To  Gaston's  horror  I  caught  him,  on 

335 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

horseback,  paying  the  postage  of  a  letter  which  he 
held  in  his  hand.  He  looked  at  me  steadily.  Then 
he  turned  his  horse  about,  and  galloped  off  so  swiftly 
that  even  then,  when  I  should  have  thought  my  men- 
tal anguish  would  have  prevented  my  feeling  any  bod- 
ily fatigue,  I  was  quite  exhausted  by  the  time  we 
reached  the  gate  leading  into  our  wood.  Gaston 
never  opened  his  lips,  he  rang  the  bell  and  waited, 
without  speaking  to  me.  I  was  more  dead  than  alive. 
I  might  be  mistaken  in  my  suspicions,  or  I  might  not 
— but  in  either  case  I  had  spied  upon  him  in  a  manner 
unworthy  of  Armande  Louise  Marie  de  Chaulieu.  I 
had  fallen  down  to  social  depths,  lower  than  the  gri- 
sette,  and  the  low-born  girl.  I  had  descended  to  the 
level  of  courtesans,  actresses,  and  common  creatures 
— what  anguish  in  the  thought!  The  gate  was 
opened  at  last,  he  gave  his  horse  to  his  groom  and  I 
slipped  off  mine,  but  into  his  arms,  which  he  held  out 
to  me.  I  threw  my  riding-skirt  over  my  left  arm,  I 
passed  my  right  through  his,  and  we  walked  away, 
still  in  dead  silence.  Those  hundred  paces  should 
surely  cut  off  a  hundred  years  of  purgatory  for  me. 
At  every  step,  thoughts  crowded  on  me,  almost  vis- 
ible, darting  tongues  of  fire  under  my  very  eyes, 
clutching  at  my  heart — and  every  one  with  a  sting 
and  a  venom  of  its  own.  When  the  groom  and  the 
horses  were  out  of  sight,  I  stopped  Gaston,  I  looked 
at  him,  and  with  a  gesture  which  you  will  imagine  for 
yourself,  I  said,  pointing  to  the  fatal  letter,  which  he 
still  held  in  his  right  hand: 

336 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

"  Let  me  read  it." 

He  gave  it  to  me;  I  broke  the  seal  and  read  a  letter 
in  which  Nathan,  the  dramatic  author,  told  him  that 
one  of  our  plays,  which  had  been  accepted  and  re- 
hearsed, was  to  be  performed  on  the  following  Satur- 
day. The  letter  inclosed  a  ticket  for  a  box.  Although 
this  turned  my  martyrdom  to  heavenly  bliss,  the 
demon  within  me  still  disturbed  my  joy  by  whispering, 
"  Where  are  those  thirty  thousand  francs?  "  And 
dignity  and  honour,  and  all  my  former  self,  rose  up 
to  prevent  me  from  putting  the  question.  It  was  on 
my  lips,  I  knew  that  if  I  put  my  thoughts  into  words 
I  should  have  to  throw  myself  into  the  lake,  and  yet 
I  could  hardly  restrain  myself  from  speaking.  Dear, 
was  not  that  agony  more  than  any  woman  could  bear? 

"  You  are  bored  here,  my  poor  Gaston,"  I  said,  as 
I  gave  him  back  the  letter.  "  If  you  like,  we  will  go 
back  to  Paris." 

"To  Paris!  why  should  we  go  back  there?"  said 
he.  "  I  only  wanted  to  know  what  my  powers  were, 
and  to  taste  the  goblet  of  success." 

It  would  be  easy,  while  he  was  sitting  at  work, 
for  me  to  feign  surprise  on  opening  the  drawer  and 
not  finding  the  thirty  thousand  francs  inside  it.  But 
would  not  that  only  serve  to  elicit  the  answer  that 
such  a  clever  man  as  Gaston  would  not  fail  to  give  me. 
"  I  have  been  helping  So-and-so — a  friend  of  mine." 

My  dear,  the  moral  of  all  this  is  that  the  play 
which  all  Paris  is  now  running  to  see,  owes  its  suc- 
cess to  us,  though  Nathan  reaps  all  the  glory  of  it.  I 

337 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

am  one  of  the  anonymous  collaborateurs  known  as 

"  Messrs. ."    I  watched  the  first  performance 

from  the  back  of  a  stage-box  on  the  pit  tier. 

July  I st. 

Gaston  is  still  working  hard  and  running  perpetu- 
ally to  Paris.  He  is  toiling  at  fresh  plays,  so  as  to 
have  a  pretext  for  going  there,  and  in  order  to  earn 
money.  Three  of  our  pieces  have  been  accepted,  and 
two  more  are  ordered.  Oh,  my  dearest,  I  am  lost!  I 
am  walking  along  in  the  dark.  I  will  burn  down  my 
house,  so  that  I  may  see  clearly.  What  does  his  con- 
duct mean?  Is  he  ashamed  of  being  rich  through  me? 
He  is  too  noble-hearted  a  man  to  give  a  thought  to 
such  littleness,  and  besides,  when  such  scruples  as 
these  begin  to  assail  a  man,  they  are  inspired  by  some- 
thing which  affects  his  heart.  A  man  will  accept  any- 
thing from  his  wife,  but  he  does  not  choose  to  owe 
anything  to  a  woman  whom  he  intends  to  forsake,  or 
whom  he  has  ceased  to  love.  If  he  wants  so  much 
money,  no  doubt  it  is  because  he  has  to  spend  it  on 
some  woman.  If  it  were  for  his  own  purposes,  would 
he  not  use  my  purse  without  the  smallest  ceremony? 
We  have  laid  by  over  a  hundred  thousand  francs.  To 
sum  it  up,  my  dearest  love,  I  have  wandered  through 
the  whole  world  of  supposition,  and  after  weighing 
everything  well,  I  am  convinced  I  have  a  rival.  I  am 
forsaken — and  for  whom?  I  must  see  her. 

July  loth. 

I  have  seen ;  I  am  lost.  Yes,  Renee,  at  thirty — in 
all  the  glory  of  my  beauty  and  all  the  wealth  of  my 

338 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

intelligence,  armed  as  I  am  with  all  the  charms  of 
dress,  and  freshness,  and  elegance,  I  am  betrayed — 
and  for  whom?  for  an  Englishwoman  with  big  feet, 
big  bones,  and  a  big  chest,  a  sort  of  British  cow. 
There  can  be  no  more  doubt  about  it.  This  is  what 
has  happened  to  me  within  the  last  few  days. 

Sick  of  doubt,  thinking  that  if  he  had  helped  one 
of  his  friends,  Gaston  might  have  told  me,  taking  his 
silence  for  an  accusation,  and  noting  that  a  contin- 
uous thirst  for  money  drove  him  to  his  work,  jealous 
cf  that  work,  and  alarmed  by  his  perpetual  excursions 
to  Paris,  I  ended  by  taking  my  measures — measures 
that  forced  me  to  stoop  so  low  that  I  can  tell  you 
nothing  of  them.  Three  days  ago,  I  learnt  that  Gas- 
ton,  when  he  goes  to  Paris,  betakes  himself  to  a  house 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Ville  1'Eveque,  where  his  loves  are 
concealed  with  discretion  such  as  was  never  seen  be- 
fore in  Paris.  The  porter,  a  very  silent  man,  said 
little,  but  enough  to  drive  me  to  despair.  Then  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  I  must  die,  and  I  determined 
that  I  would  know  all  first.  I  went  to  Paris,  I  took 
a  room  in  a  house  opposite  that  to  which  Gaston  is  in 
the  habit  of  going,  and  with  my  own  eyes  I  saw  him 
ride  into  the  court-yard.  Then,  all  too  soon,  I  learnt 
a  horrible  and  frightful  thing — this  Englishwoman, 
who  seems  to  me  to  be  about  thirty-six,  calls  herself 
Mme.  Gaston.  That  discovery  was  my  death-blow. 
Well,  I  saw  her  go  into  the  Tuileries  with  two  chil- 
dren .  .  .  two  children,  oh,  my  dearest,  who  are  the 
living  image  of  Gaston.  No  one  could  fail  to  be 

339  Vol.  2 

12 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

struck  by  the  scandalous  resemblance.  And  such 
pretty  children,  too,  sumptuously  dressed,  as  English- 
women know  how  to  dress  their  children.  She  has 
borne  him  children,  that  explains  it  all !  This  English- 
woman is  a  sort  of  Greek  statue  taken  down  off  some 
monument;  she  is  as  white  and  cold  as  marble,  and 
walks  along  solemnly  like  a  proud  mother.  She's 
handsome,  I  must  admit  it — but  she's  as  heavy  as  a 
man-of-war.  There  is  nothing  dainty  or  distinguished 
about  her.  I  am  certain  she  is  no  lady.  She  must  be 
the  daughter  of  some  village  farmer  in  a  far-away 
county,  or  the  eleventh  child  of  some  starving  clergy- 
man. I  was  half  dead  when  I  got  home  from  Paris. 
On  the  road,  a  thousand  thoughts  assailed  me,  like  as 
many  demons.  Is  she  a  married  woman?  Did  he 
know  her  before  he  married  me?  Was  she  the  mis- 
tress of  some  rich  man  who  has  forsaken  her,  and  has 
she  not  fallen  back  suddenly  on  Gaston's  hands?  I 
made  endless  conjectures,  as  if  there  were  any  use  in 
hypothesis  in  the  face  of  those  two  children.  The 
next  morning  I  went  back  to  Paris  and  gave  so  much 
money  to  the  porter  of  that  house,  that  in  answer  to 
this  question,  "  Is  Madame  Gaston  legally  married?  " 
he  answered: 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle] " 

July  ijth. 

Dear,  since  that  morning  I  have  been  twice  as 
tender  to  Gaston,  and  I  have  found  him  more  in  love 
with  me  than  ever — he  is  so  young.  A  score  of  times 
before  we  get  up  in  the  morning  I  have  it  on  the  tip 

340 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

of  my  tongue  to  say  to  him,  "  So  you  really  love  me 
more  than  the  woman  in  the  Rue  de  la  Ville 
1'Eveque?  "  But  I  dare  not  explain  the  mystery  of 
my  self-denial,  even  to  myself. 

"  Are  you  very  fond  of  children?  "  I  said  to  him. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  answered,  "  but  we  shall  have  chil- 
dren of  our  own." 

"  And  how?  "  said  I. 

"  I've  consulted  the  best  doctors,  and  they  all 
advise  me  to  go  away  for  a  couple  of  months." 

"  Gaston,"  I  said,  "  if  I  had  been  able  to  love  an 
absent  person,  I  should  have  stayed  in  my  convent  to 
the  end  of  my  days." 

Then  he  began  to  laugh,  but  that  word  "  go 
away  "  gave  me  my  death.  Ah,  indeed,  I  would  far 
rather  throw  myself  out  of  the  window  than  let  myself 
roll  down  the  staircase  and  cling  to  every  step.  .  .  . 

Farewell,  my  dearest!  I  have  taken  steps  to  in- 
sure that  my  death  shall  be  quiet,  refined,  but  quite  in- 
evitable. I  made  my  will  yesterday.  You  can  come 
and  see  me  now,  the  doors  are  opened  wide.  Come 
quickly  then,  that  I  may  bid  you  farewell !  My  death, 
like  my  life,  shall  be  full  of  distinction  and  of  charm — 
I  will  die  true  to  myself. 

Farewell,  my  dear  sister-heart!  You,  whose  af- 
fection has  never  changed  or  wavered,  who,  like  a 
gentle  moonbeam,  have  always  cheered  my  heart  with 
your  calm  light.  You  have  not  known  the  ardour  of 
love,  but  neither  have  you  tasted  its  poisonous  bitter- 
ness. You  have  looked  wisely  at  life.  Farewell! 

34' 


LV 

FROM  THE  COMTESSE  DE  I/ESTORADE  TO  MME.  GASTON 

July  I3th. 

MY  DEAR  LOUISE:  I  send  this  letter  on  by  a 
messenger,  and  am  hurrying  after  it  myself.  Calm 
yourself,  I  beg.  Your  last  words  struck  me  as  so  de- 
mented that  I  thought  I  might  venture,  considering 
the  circumstances,  on  confiding  the  whole  story  to 
Louis.  For  I  felt  you  must  be  saved  from  yourself. 
Though  we,  like  you,  have  employed  odious  means, 
the  result  is  so  satisfactory  that  I  am  certain  you  will 
approve.  I  even  went  so  far  as  to  call  in  the  police, 
but  that  is  a  secret  between  the  Prefect,  ourselves  and 
you.  Gaston  is  an  angel — here  are  the  facts.  His 
brother  died  at  Calcutta,  where  he  was  employed  by 
some  mercantile  company,  just  when  he  was  about  to 
return  to  France  a  rich,  married,  and  happy  man. 
The  widow  of  an  English  merchant  had  bestowed  her 
immense  wealth  upon  him.  After  toiling  for  ten  years 
to  provide  a  subsistence  for  his  brother,  whom  he  wor- 
shipped, and  to  whom  he  never  mentioned  his  disap- 
pointments, lest  they  should  distress  him,  he  was  over- 
whelmed in  the  famous  Halmer  failure.  The  widow 
was  ruined.  The  shock  was  so  terrible  that  Louis 

342 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

Gaston's  brain  became  affected.  As  his  mind  weak- 
ened, sickness  took  hold  of  his  body,  and  he  died  in 
Bengal,  whither  he  had  gone  to  realize  the  remnant 
of  his  poor  wife's  fortune.  The  good  captain  had  al- 
ready forwarded  a  sum  of  three  hundred  thousand 
francs  to  a  banker  for  transmission  to  his  brother. 
But  the  banker  was  swept  away  in  the  Halmer  bank- 
ruptcy, and  thus  this  last  hope  disappeared.  Louis 
Gaston's  widow,  that  handsome  woman  whom  you 
have  taken  for  your  rival,  arrived  in  Paris  with  two 
children,  who  are  your  nephews,  and  without  a  cen- 
time. The  mother's  jewels  had  barely  sufficed  to  pro- 
vide for  her  own  and  her  children's  passage  money. 
By  means  of  the  directions  Louis  Gaston  had  given 
the  banker  who  was  to  have  sent  the  money  to  his 
brother,  the  widow  found  her  way  to  your  husband's 
former  place  of  residence.  As  your  Gaston  had  dis- 
appeared without  leaving  a  hint  of  whither  he  was 
going,  the  people  of  the  house  sent  Mme.  Louis 
Gaston  to  d'Arthez,  the  only  person  likely  to  know 
Marie  Gaston's  whereabouts.  D'Arthez  was  all  the 
more  ready  to  help  the  poor  young  woman  generously, 
because  some  four  years  ago,  when  Louis  Gaston  mar- 
tied,  he  had  written  to  d'Arthez,  whom  he  knew  to  be 
his  brother's  friend,  to  inquire  about  him,  and  find  out 
how  the  three  hundred  thousand  francs  might  be 
most  safely  transmitted  to  their  destination.  D'Arthez 
had  replied  that  Marie  Gaston  was  now  rich,  thanks  to 
this  marriage  with  the  Baronne  de  Macumer.  Alike  in 
India  and  in  Paris,  the  glorious  gift  of  beauty  be- 

343 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

stowed  on  both  brothers  by  their  mother,  saved  them 
from  misfortune. 

Isn't  it  a  touching  story?  D'Arthez  ended  natu- 
rally by  writing  to  your  husband  to  tell  him  of  the 
situation  of  his  sister-in-law  and  nephews,  and  of  the 
generous  purpose  which  chance  had  frustrated,  but 
which  the  Indian  Gaston  had  nursed  with  regard  to 
the  Gaston  left  in  Paris.  Your  dear  Gaston  at  once 
rushed  up  to  Paris,  as  you  will  imagine.  That  ac- 
counts for  his  first  excursion.  In  the  last  five  years 
he  has  saved  fifty  thousand  francs  on  the  income  you 
have  made  him  accept,  and  with  this  money  he  has 
bought  scrip  to  the  amount  of  twelve  thousand  francs 
a  year  for  each  of  his  nephews,  and  besides,  he  has  fur- 
nished the  rooms  in  which  his  sister-in-law  lives,  and 
has  promised  to  allow  her  three  thousand  francs  a  quar- 
ter. This  explains  his  writing  for  the  stage  and  his 
delight  over  the  success  of  his  first  play.  So  Mme. 
Gaston  is  not  your  rival,  and  she  has  a  perfect  right  to 
bear  your  name.  A  noble-hearted  and  delicate-minded 
man,  such  as  Gaston,  would,  no  doubt,  conceal  the 
story  from  you,  out  of  fear  of  your  generosity.  Your 
husband  doesn't  consider  what  you  have  bestowed 
upon  him  as  his  own  property.  D'Arthez  read  me  the 
letter  he  wrote  him  when  he  asked  him  to  act  as  one  of 
the  witnesses  at  your  marriage.  In  it  Marie  Gaston 
says  his  happiness  would  have  been  complete  if  he  had 
possessed  money  of  his  own,  and  if  he  had  not  had  any 
debts  for  you  to  pay.  A  pure  heart  cannot  stifle  this 
feeling.  If  it  is  there,  it  makes  itself  felt,  and  where 

344 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

it  does  exist  its  scruples  and  its  sensitiveness  may  be 
easily  conceived.  It  is  very  natural  that  Gaston 
should  desire  to  provide  secretly  and  suitably  for 
his  brother's  widow,  seeing  the  lady  had  originally 
sent  him  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  out  of  her  own 
pocket.  She  is  handsome  and  good-hearted,  her  man- 
ners are  refined,  but  she  is  not  clever.  She  is  a  moth- 
er, and  you  will  understand  that  my  heart  went  out  to 
her  the  moment  I  saw  her  with  one  child  in  her  arms, 
and  the  other  dressed  like  a  little  lord  and  clinging  to 
her  skirts.  "  The  children  are  all  in  all,"  that  is  her 
motto,  even  in  the  merest  trifle.  Thus,  far  from 
being  angry  with  your  darling  Gaston,  you  ought  to 
love  him  all  the  more.  I  have  had  a  glimpse  of  him. 
He  is  the  best-looking  young  fellow  in  Paris.  Yes, 
dearest  child,  that  one  sight  of  him  made  me  realize 
that  a  woman  might  well  go  crazy  over  him.  His 
face  is  the  index  to  his  soul.  If  I  were  you,  I  would 
bring  the  widow  and  her  two  children  down  to  the 
chalet.  Pd  build  them  a  delightful  cottage  there, 
and  they  should  be  like  my  own  children  to  me.  So 
now  calm  your  heart,  and  surprise  your  Gaston  by 
playing  this  trick  upon  him. 


345 


LVI 

FROM  MME.  GASTON  TO  THE  COMTESSE  DE  I/ESTOKADE 

AH,  my  dearest,  hear  the  terrible,  fatal,  insolent 
words  of  the  fool  La  Fayette  to  his  master  and  his 
King,  "  It  is  too  late!  "  Oh,  my  life!  my  beautiful  life! 
what  doctor  can  bring  it  back  to  me?  I  have  dealt 
my  own  death-blow.  Alas!  what  was  I  but  a  will-o'- 
the-wisp,  doomed  to  flash  gaily  and  then  die  out  into 
the  dark!  The  tears  pour  from  my  eyes,  and  ...  I 
must  not  weep  when  he  is  near  me.  ...  I  flee  from 
him  and  he  follows  after  me!  My  despair  is  all  hidden 
in  my  soul.  Dante  forgot  my  torture  when  he  wrote 
his  Inferno.  Come  and  see  me  die! 


LVII 


THE  CHALET,  August  7th. 

MY  DEAR:  Take  the  children  with  you  and  go 
back  to  Provence  without  me.  I  must  stay  with 
Louise,  she  has  only  a  few  more  days  to  live.  I  must 
be  with  her  and  her  husband,  who  will  go  mad,  I  think. 

Since  the  arrival  of  that  note  which  made  me  fly 
to  Ville  d'Avray,  taking  the  doctors  with  me,  I  have 
never  left  this  exquisite  creature,  and  I  have  not  been 
able  to  write,  for  this  is  the  fifteenth  night  I  have 
spent  out  of  bed. 

When  I  got  here,  I  found  her  sitting  with  Gaston, 
looking  beautiful,  exquisitely  dressed,  with  a  merry, 
happy  face.  It  was  all  a  splendid  fiction.  There  had 
been  an  explanation  between  the  two  young  people. 
For  a  moment  I  was  duped,  as  Gaston  had  been,  by 
her  bold  front.  But  Louise  squeezed  my  hand,  and 
whispered: 

"  We  must  deceive  him,  I  am  dying." 

An  icy  chill  fell  on  me  when  I  felt  her  hands  were 
burning  hot,  and  noticed  the  rouge  upon  her  cheeks. 
I  congratulated  myself  upon  my  forethought.  To 

347 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

avoid  alarming  anybody,  it  had  occurred  to  me  to  tell 
the  doctors  to  go  and  walk  in  the  wood  till  they  were 
sent  for. 

"  You  must  go  away,"  she  said  to  Gaston.  "  Two 
women  who  haven't  seen  each  other  for  five  years 
have  a  great  many  secrets  to  tell  each  other,  and  I  am 
sure  Renee  has  something  she  wants  to  confide 
to  me." 

As  soon  as  we  were  alone,  she  threw  herself  into 
my  arms,  and  could  not  keep  back  her  tears. 

"  What  is  it?  "  I  cried.  "  In  any  case  I've  brought 
down  the  chief  surgeon  of  the  Hotel-Dieu,  and  Bian- 
chon.  There  are  four  of  them  altogether." 

"  Oh,  if  they  can  save  me!  If  only  they  are  in 
time!  Let  them  come  in,"  she  cried.  "  The  very  feel- 
ing that  made  me  long  for  death  now  makes  me  pine 
to  live." 

"  But  what  have  you  done?  " 

"  I've  done  my  lungs  the  most  frightful  mischief, 
all  in  a  few  days." 

"  And  how  did  you  do  it?  " 

"  I  used  to  put  myself  into  violent  perspirations  at 
night  and  then  run  out  and  stand  beside  the  lake  in 
the  dew.  Gaston  thinks  I  have  a  cold  .  .  .  and  I'm 
dying." 

"  Send  him  off  to  Paris,"  said  I,  "  I'm  going  to 
fetch  the  doctors."  And  off  I  ran  like  a  mad-woman 
to  the  spot  where  I  had  left  them. 

Alas,  dear  friend,  when  the  consultation  was  over, 
not  one  of  the  great  men  gave  me  the  slightest  hope, 

348 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

They  all  think  Louise  will  die  when  the  leaves  begin 
to  fall.  The  darling  creature's  constitution  has  served 
her  purpose  in  the  most  singular  way.  She  was  al- 
ready predisposed  to  the  complaint  she  has  set  up. 
She  might  have  lived  for  years,  but  now,  in  a  few  days, 
she  has  done  herself  irreparable  harm.  I  will  not  tell 
you  what  I  felt  when  I  heard  this  perfectly  well- 
founded  verdict.  You  know  my  life  has  been  as 
much  in  Louise  as  in  myself.  I  sat  there  crushed,  and 
could  not  even  say  good-bye  to  the  merciless  doctors. 
I  know  not  how  long  I  had  been  sitting  with  stream- 
ing eyes,  wrapped  in  my  agonizing  thoughts,  when  I 
was  roused  from  my  stupor  by  a  hand  laid  on  my 
shoulder,  and  a  sweet  voice  that  said,  "  Well,  so 
there's  no  hope  for  me."  It  was  Louise;  she  made 
me  rise  and  come  with  her  to  her  sitting-room. 

"  Don't  leave  me,"  she  begged,  with  a  supplicating 
look.  "  I  don't  want  to  see  despair  all  about  me. 
Above  all,  I  want  to  deceive  him.  I  shall  have 
strength  to  do  that.  I  am  full  of  youth  and  vigour, 
and  I  will  die  on  my  feet.  For  myself,  I  don't  com- 
plain; I  shall  die  just  as  I  have  often  wished  to  die, 
when  I'm  thirty,  with  my  youth  and  beauty  still  un- 
touched. As  for  him,  I  should  have  made  him  miser- 
able— I  can  see  that  clearly.  I  have  entangled  myself 
in  the  meshes  of  my  own  loves,  like  a  doe  that  strangles 
herself  in  her  rage  at  being  caught.  Of  us  two,  I  am 
the  doe,  and  a  very  wild  one.  My  fits  of  unreasoning 
jealousy  were  already  so  heavy  on  his  heart  that  they 
made  him  wretched.  And  on  the  day  when  my  sus- 

349 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

picions  met  with  indifference,  the  inevitable  punish- 
ment of  jealousy,  I  should  have  died.  I  have  had 
my  full  share  of  life.  There  are  some  people  who 
are  supposed  to  have  lived  sixty  years,  and  have  really 
not  had  two  years  of  life.  On  the  other  hand,  I 
seem  to  be  only  thirty,  but  in  reality  I  have  had  sixty 
years  of  love.  So,  for  both  him  and  me,  this  end  is 
the  best.  But  for  us  two,  the  case  is  different.  You 
will  lose  a  loving  sister,  and  that  is  an  irreparable  loss. 
And  you  alone  will  have  reason  to  mourn  my  death. 
.  .  .  My  death,"  she  added,  after  a  long  pause,  dur- 
ing which  I  could  hardly  see  her  through  my  tears, 
"  carries  a  cruel  lesson  with  it.  My  dear  doctor  in 
petticoats  was  right.  Not  passion,  not  even  love,  can 
be  the  true  basis  of  marriage.  Your  life  is  a  beautiful 
and  noble  life;  you  have  clung  steadily  to  your  path, 
and  grown  closer  and  closer  to  your  Louis;  whereas, 
if  conjugal  life  begins  with  an  excessive  ardour  of 
passion,  that  cannot  fail  to  cool  as  time  goes  on.  I 
have  fallen  into  a  mistake  twice  over,  and  twice  over 
Death's  wasted  fingers  have  snuffed  out  my  happiness. 
They  bereft  me  of  the  noblest  and  the  most  devoted 
of  men,  and  now  I  am  torn  from  the  arms  of  the  hand- 
somest, the  most  attractive,  the  most  poetic  husband 
woman  ever  had.  But  I  shall  have  made  acquaint- 
ance, turn  about,  with  the  most  perfect  soul,  and  the 
most  exquisite  form,  that  ever  existed.  In  Felipe's 
case  the  mind  subdued  the  body  and  transformed  it. 
In  Gaston's,  heart  and  intellect  and  physical  beauty 
are  all  equal.  I  shall  have  been  worshipped  till  I  die; 

350 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

what  more  can  I  desire?  I  will  make  my  peace  with 
God,  whom  I  have  forgotten  somewhat,  perhaps.  I 
will  turn  to  Him  with  my  heart  full  of  love,  and  pray 
that  some  day  He  will  give  me  back  my  two  angels 
in  Heaven.  For  without  them  Paradise  would  be  a 
desert  to  me.  My  example  would  be  grievous,  but  I 
pm  an  exception.  As  such  beings  as  Felipe  or  Gaston 
can  never  be  met  with,  the  social  law  agrees,  in  this 
matter,  with  the  natural  law.  Woman  is  really  a  weak 
being,  who,  when  she  marries,  should  utterly  sacrifice 
her  will  to  her  husband,  and  he,  in  return,  should  sac- 
rifice his  selfishness  to  her.  The  noisy  outcry  our  sex 
has  raised,  and  the  tears  it  has  shed,  of  late,  are  follies 
which  rightfully  earn  us  the  title  of  children  bestowed 
upon  us  by  so  many  philosophers." 

She  went  on  talking,  in  that  sweet  voice  you  know 
so  well,  saying  the  most  sensible  things  in  the  most 
refined  fashion,  until  Gaston  arrived  with  his  sister-in- 
law,  the  two  children,  and  the  English  nurse,  whom 
Louise  had  begged  him  to  fetch  from  Paris. 

"  Here  are  my  pretty  executioners,"  she  said,  when 
she  saw  her  two  nephews.  "  Can  you  wonder  I  was 
mistaken?  How  like  their  uncle  they  are!  " 

She  gave  the  kindest  welcome  to  Madame  Gaston, 
whom  she  begged  to  consider  the  chalet  as  her  home. 
She  did  the  honours  of  her  house  with  the  high-bred 
charm  she  possesses  to  such  a  marked  degree.  I  in- 
stantly wrote  to  the  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu, 
the  Due  de  Rhetore,  to  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt- 
Chaulieu,  and  to  Madeleine.  It  is  well  I  did  so.  The 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

very  next  day,  Louise,  worn  out  by  her  exertions,  was 
unable  to  go  out,  and  did  not  get  up,  indeed,  till  din- 
ner-time. Her  mother,  and  her  two  brothers,  and 
Madame  de  Lenoncourt,  came  in  the  evening.  The 
coldness  between  Louise  and  her  family,  arising  from 
her  marriage,  has  quite  passed  away.  Since  that  even- 
ing her  father  and  her  brothers  have  ridden  over  every 
morning,  and  the  two  Duchesses  spend  all  their  even- 
ings at  the  chalet.  Death  does  almost  as  much  to 
bring  people  together  as  to  part  them.  It  puts  all 
paltry  passions  to  silence.  There  is  something  sublime 
in  Louise's  good  sense,  and  grace,  and  charm,  and 
tender  feeling.  Even  now,  in  her  last  moments,  she 
reveals  the  taste  for  which  she  has  been  so  celebrated, 
and  pours  out  the  treasures  of  an  intellect  which  has 
made  her  one  of  the  Queens  of  Paris. 

"  I  mean  to  be  pretty  even  in  my  coffin,"  she  said 
to  me,  with  that  peculiar  smile  of  hers,  when  she  laid 
down  in  her  bed,  to  linger  out  the  last  fortnight. 
There  is  not  a  sign  of  sickness  in  her  room;  all  the 
drinks  and  lozenges  and  medical  paraphernalia  are  hid- 
den away. 

"  Am  I  not  dying  bravely?  "  she  said  yesterday,  to 
the  parish  priest  of  Sevres,  to  whom  she  has  given  her 
confidence. 

We  all  treasure  every  moment  of  her,  like  misers. 
Gaston,  whose  mind  has  been  prepared  by  all  his 
anxiety  and  this  cruel  certainty,  is  full  of  courage, 
but  it  is  a  terrible  blow  to  him.  I  should  not  be 
surprised  if  he  were  soon  to  follow  his  wife.  Yes- 

352 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

terday,  as  we  were  walking  round  the  lake,  he  said 
to  me: 

"  I  must  be  a  father  to  those  two  children,"  and 
he  pointed  to  his  sister-in-law  who  was  walking  with 
his  nephews.  "  But  though  I  do  not  intend  to  do  any- 
thing to  shorten  my  own  life,  promise  me  you  will  be  a 
second  mother  to  them,  and  that  your  husband  will 
consent  to  accept  the  guardianship  which  I  shall  leave 
to  him  and  to  my  sister-in-law." 

He  said  all  this  without  the  slightest  emphasis,  like 
a  man  who  feels  he  is  condemned.  He  smiles  back  to 
Louise  whenever  she  smiles  to  him,  and  I  am  the  only 
person  who  is  not  deceived.  His  courage  is  as  great 
as  hers.  Louise  would  have  liked  to  see  her  godson, 
but  I  am  not  sorry  he  should  be  in  Provence:  she 
would  very  likely  have  done  things  for  him  which 
would  have  made  me  feel  very  uncomfortable. 

Farewell,  dear  friend. 

August  Sjth,  HER  BIRTHDAY. 

Yesterday  evening  Louise  wandered  for  a  few 
minutes,  but  there  was  a  real  refinement  even  in  her 
delirium,  which  proves  that  people  of  intellect  do  not 
lose  their  heads  like  common  folk  or  fools.  In  a  faint 
voice  she  sang  a  few  Italian  airs  out  of  the  Puritani, 
La  Sonnambula,  and  Mose.  We  all  stood  round  her 
bed  in  silence,  and  there  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of 
every  one  of  us,  even  of  her  brother  Rhetore,  for  we 
all  saw  her  soul  was  slipping  away.  She  was  quite  un- 
conscious of  our  presence,  but  all  her  old  charm  lin- 
gered in  the  tones  of  her  weak  voice,  with  its  exquisite 

353 


The  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Brides 

sweetness.  In  the  night  the  death  agony  began.  At 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  helped  her  out  of  her 
bed  myself — her  strength  came  back  to  her  a  little, 
she  wanted  to  sit  by  her  window;  she  asked  Gaston  for 
his  hand  .  .  .  and  then,  dear  friend,  the  most  charm- 
ing creature  that  we  shall  ever  see  upon  this  earth  left 
us  nothing  but  her  corpse!  She  had  received  the 
sacraments  the  night  before,  unknown  to  Gaston, 
who  had  been  sleeping  during  the  sad  ceremony,  and 
she  had  begged  me  to  read  her  the  De  Profundis  in 
French,  while  she  looked  her  last  on  the  beautiful  nat- 
ural surroundings  she  had  created.  She  followed  the 
words  in  her  heart,  and  clasped  her  husband's  hands 
as  he  knelt  on  the  other  side  of  her  arm-chair. 

August  26th. 

My  heart  is  broken!  I  have  just  been  looking  at 
her  in  her  shroud — her  face  has  grown  white,  and 
there  are  purple  shadows  on  it.  Oh,  my  children!  I 
want  my  children!  Bring  my  children  to  meet  me! 

PARIS,  1841. 


354 


CURIOUS   UNPUBLISHED   OR 

UNKNOWN   PORTRAITS   OF 

HONORE   DE  BALZAC 


18  Vol.  3 


CURIOUS   UNPUBLISHED  OR 

UNKNOWN   PORTRAITS  OF 

HONORE   DE   BALZAC 


SKETCH   OF  BALZAC 

As  a  young-  man. 

From  the  drawing  by  Louis 

Boulanger,  1836,  in  the 

museum  at  Tours. 


THE  portraits  of  Balzac — should 
a  list  of  them  ever  be  attempt- 
ed— would  not  provide  the  in- 
dustrious personage  who  might 
undertake  their  methodical  enu- 
meration with  matter  for  any 
very  long  or  very  curious  pam- 
phlet. 

Balzac  did  not,  like  his  con- 
temporaries, much  less  cele- 
brated than  himself,  furnish  the  subject  for  innu- 
merable productions  by  caricaturists,  painters,  en- 
gravers, and  lithographers. 

His  portraits  and  caricatures  are  comparatively 
rare :  the  Print  Room  of  the  Bibliotheque  Nationale 
hardly  possesses  more  than  fifteen  presentments  of 
Balzac,  and  it  should  be  added  that  most  of  these 
are  mere  variations  of  the  one  monkish-looking  type, 
of  which  Louis  Boulanger's  painting  (1838),  and  the 
lithograph  produced  in  1840  by  the  Galerie  de  la 
Presse,  are  the  types  most  frequently  followed. 

357 


The  Portraits  of  Honore  de  Balzac 

Private  collectors  are  no  better  provided,  and 
we  have  no  means  of  tracing  the  evolution  of  this 
remarkable  physiognomy  from  the  days  when  the 
dweller  in  the  garret  of  the  Rue  Lesdiguieres  signed 
his  work  "  Horace  de  St.  Aubin  "  or  "  Lord  Rh'oone," 


PORTRAIT  OF  BALZAC. 

Scarce  lithograph  by  Emile  Lassalle,  published  in  1841  in  the 
Galerie  des  Contemporains  Illustres. 

up  to  the  finest  period  of  his  talent,  when  he  wrote 
Les  Parents  pauvres  and  La  The"orie  de  la  Demarche. 
This  lack  of  portraits  of  Balzac,  in  any  number,  at 
that  period  of  the  century  when  lithography  lent 
itself  so  willingly  to  the  production  of  portraits  of 
the  men  of  the  moment — when  every  newspaper, 
every  periodical,  every  illustrated  album,  was  striv- 
ing to  present  the  greatest  possible  variety  of  con- 
tempofary  faces — can  only  be  explained  by  the  claus- 

358 


The  Portraits  of  Honore  de  Balzac 


tral  life  of  toil  in  which  the  great  writer  spent  his 
days.  It  was  only  very  occasionally  that  the  fancy 
took  him  to  be  the  fashionable  society  man,  or  the 
journalist  of  many  acquaintances.  More  entirely 
than  any  other  man  did  he  escape  the  indiscretions 
of  a  commonplace  publicity,  and  he  succeeded  in 
saving  himself  from  the  little  gossiping  paragraphs 
and  scraps  of  detail  of  a  journalism  which  has  always 
proved  its  eagerness  to  scrutinize  the  private  exist- 
ence, all  too  readily  revealed,  of  the  artist  and  the 
novelist. 

Thanks  to  his  life  of  toil  and  to  the  triple  bul- 
wark of  mystery  which  he  ever  carefully  raised 
about  him,  the  loves  of  the 
author  of  the  Comtdie  Hu- 
maine  were  never  discov- 
ered, and  opportunities  for 
snatching  a  furtive  glimpse 
of  his  mobile  features  were 
few  and  far  between. 

It  cannot  be  urged  that 
Balzac,  conscious  of  his  own 
heavy  appearance,  and  of  a 
countenance  which',  at  the 
first  blush,  conveyed  an  im- 
pression ol  vulgarity,  shrank  from  all  publication  of 
his  own  lineaments.  There  is  no  truth  in  this  idea. 
Balzac,  like  all  other  men,  was  very  indulgent  where 
his  own  person  was  concerned. 

Though  he  was  no  coxcomb,  he  cannot  be  said 
359 


MEDALLION   OF    BALZAC. 

After  a  lithograph,  1842. 


The  Portraits  of  Honore  de  Balzac 


to  have  been  dissatisfied  with  his  looks,  or  conscious 
of  his  lack  of  aesthetic  grace ;  he  was  fond  of  his 
terrestrial  envelope,  he  noted  it  with  satisfaction, 
and  the  following  remark,  made  when  he  was  sitting 
to  David  of  Angers  for  his  medallion  portrait,  has  in 

particular  been  preserved. 
"Above  all  things,  dear 
sculptor,  mind  you  study 
my  nose;  t her  is  a  whole 
world,  look  you,  in  my 
nose  ! " 

One  of  the  earliest 
known  portraits  of  Balzac 
is  that  in  the  Tours  mu- 
seum, which  represents 
him  at  the  age  of  five-and- 
twenty ;  it  presents  the 
ordinary,  rather  common- 
place face  of  a  provincial 
employee.  Julien's  litho- 
graph, published  about 
1832  or  1833,  m  tne  SUP- 
plement  of  a  newspaper, 

Le  Voleur,  comes  next  in  order.  This  Balzac  of  over 
thirty  summers  appears  as  a  stout  fellow,  beaming 
like  some  successful  tenor  singer.  This  is  evidently 
quite  a  fancy  portrait,  got  up  to  illustrate  some 
novel,  and  the  flattered  face  is  designed  to  stir  the 
fancy  of  sentimental  little  work-girls. 

More  typical  is   the  curious   caricature-portrait 
360 


UNSIGNED  CARICATURE  OF  BALZAC. 

Published  in  1835  in  the  Mercure 
de  France. 


The  Portraits  of  Honore  de  Balzac 


H.    DE   BALZAC. 

After  the  portrait  by  L.  Boulanger,  1840. 


which  is  repro- 
duced in  this 
book,  and  which 
was  buried  in  the 
position  of  tail- 
piece in  the  Mer- 
cure  de  France,  of 
1 83 5,  a  most  inter- 
esting collection, 
which  was  the 
supplement  of  the 
Musee  des  Families, 
and  the  Magasin 
Pittoresque.  Here 
we  really  have  the  frank  Balzac,  the  big  comic 
dandy,  the  man  with  the  walking-cane,  a?  we  love 
to  fancy  him.  This  picture  recalls  a  statuette  with 

a  touch  of  caricature, 
modelled  from  his  fig- 
ure by  Dantan,  which, 
according  to  his  con- 
temporaries, repro- 
duced with  the  most 
priceless  fidelity  his 
gait,  his  attitude,  his 
face,  his  garb,  his 
monumental  cane,  his 
very  outline,  in  fact. 
The  portrait  pub- 

H.   DE  BALZAC. 

Drawn  from  life,  1843.  hshed   by  Aubert  m 


The  Portraits  of  Honore  de  Balzac 


SKETCH   OF   BALZAC. 

Made  by  David  d' Angers  in  1845  (unpublished). 


the  Galerie  de  la  Presse 
(1839),  i§  a  charming  lith- 
ograph, which  would 
seem  to  be  a  study  from 
the  life.  But  it  is  so 
well  known  to  Balzac 
worshippers  that  we  will 
not  dally  over  it  now. 
The  same  cannot  be  as- 
serted of  the  de- 
lightful lithograph- 
drawing  by  Emile 
Lassalle  which  ap- 
peared in  1841,  in 
the  Galerie  des  Contemporains  Illustrcs,  and  has  never 
been  reproduced.  This  is  a  young  and  smiling  face, 
pleasant  to  look 
upon,  which  would 
form  an  admirable 
frontispiece  to  the 
Contes  Drolatiques. 

We  give  a  fac-sim-  •»••• 

ile  of  this  charming       f^j^i  lm\\Xl^b», 

Balzac  in  his  arm- 
chair, a  pleasing 
change  from  the 
type  of  Balzac  in  a 
Rabelaisian  frock- 
coat,  which  Hedou- 
in,  the  etcher,  has 


H.   DE   BALZAC 

In  1844. 


362 


The  Portraits  of  Honore  de  Balzac 

made  only  too  well  known  in  engravings  after  Bou- 
langer's  original. 

In  1845,  we  find  in  that  same  Galerie  des  Contem- 
porains  Illustrcs,  no  lithograph  this  time,  but  a  very 
curious  etching,  drawn  and  engraved  by  Adolphe 


H.    DE    BALZAC. 

After  a  daguerrotype  taken  in  1848.    Only  authentic  portrait 

Forlet,  and  representing  a  very  elegant  Balzac  in- 
deed, wrapped  in  a  dressing-gown,  tall,  slight,  his 
face  beaming  with  mirth  and  satiric  humour,  the 
•very  picture  that  should  figure  at  the  beginning  of 
the  Physiologic  du  Mariage,  or  of  that  subtle  Mono- 
graphic de  J.a  Presse  Parisienne,  which  first  saw  the 
light  in  that  same  year  1843.  The  difficulties  attend- 
ing a  reproduction  of  this  etching  very  delicately 

363 


The  Portraits  of  Honore  de  Balzac 

touched  in  a  dry  point,  have  prevented  our  display- 
ing it  here,  although  it  is  a  hitherto  unknown  por- 
trait belonging  to  this  period.  We  also  find  a  sketch 
of  Balzac  by  David  d' Angers,  which  was  photo- 
graphed at  a  later  date,  and  the  profile  of  which  is 

exceedingly  exact,  very 
carefully  worked  up,  and 
well  deserving  of  study. 
Below  the  sketch  the 
artist  has  written  "A 
Madame  de  Surville, 
croquis  fait  de  son  illus- 
tre  frere,  par  David, 
1843."  We  could  not 

BALZAC. 

After  an  anonymous  engraving,          do      Otherwise      than      in- 

stantly  cause  this  curi- 
osity to  be  engraved,  and  our  readers  will  here  find 
the  profile,  that  of  a  warrior-monk  and  philosopher, 
whose  close-pressed  lips  seem  to  have  forgotten  how 
to  smile. 

Another  portrait,  lithographed  for  the  State,  and 
long  since  vanished,  is  that  which  appears  in  helio- 
gravure at  the  beginning  of  this  book,  and  which 
gives  us  a  respectable,  substantial  Balzac,  comfort- 
able-looking, quite  the  money-making  author.  This 
portrait  is  not  in  general  circulation,  and  it  exactly, 
reproduces,  to  our  mind,  the  great  novelist's  per- 
sonal appearance. 

As  we  are  only  considering  in  this  notice  those 
portraits  of  Balzac  either  little  known  or  unknown 

364 


The  Portraits  of  Honore  de  Balzac 


to  collectors,  or  altogether  unpublished,  we  will 
refer  to  the  curious  fact  that  Balzac  gave  a  sitting 
one  day  to  Gavarni,  who,  without  troubling  himself 
to  make  a  pencil  sketch,  boldly  laid  hold  of  a  big 
copper  plate,  and  began  to  draw  the  great  novelist 
on  it,  in  dashing  outline.  We  may  take  it  that  this 
sitting  was  not  repeated,  and  that  Gavarni  threw  his 
copper  plate  aside.  But  by  a  strange  chance  the 
plate  fell  one  fine  day  into  the  hands  of  Bracque- 
mont,  who  used  it  for  the  first  state  of  a  landscape. 
What  was  his  as- 
tonishment, when 
he  drew  his  first 
proof,  at  discover- 
ing the  bold  lines 
of  Gavarni's  Bal- 
zac portrait  below 
the  various  fore- 
grounds of  his 
own  picture  ?  We 
need  hardly  say 
that  Bracquemont 


did  not  finish  his 
engraving,  and 
that  the  great 
etcher  still  treasures  the  profile  he  has  so  uncon- 
sciously embowered  in  landscape  scenery.  No  re- 
production of  this  picture  is  possible.  It  is  a  land- 
scape puzzle. 

Nevertheless    Gavarni    had   made   other   rough 
365 


BALZAC. 

After  a  sketch  made  by  Eugene  Giraud 
immediately  after  death. 


The  Portraits  of  Honore  de  Balzac 


sketches  of  Balzac   in   dressing-gown  and  slippers, 
sketches  no  doubt  made  in  the  novelist's  home,  "  aux 

Jardies,"  near  Sevres. 
One  of  these  pencil 
sketches,  reproduced 
by  permission  of  the 
owner,  M.  Gavarni  fils, 
forms  the  tail-piece  to 
this  Note. 

One  of  the  most  au- 
thentic, most  life-like, 
and  most  unconvention- 
al portraits  of  the  great 
inventor  of  the  Comtdie 
Humaine,  is  that  once 
owned  by  the  photog- 
rapher Nadar.  This  is 
a  most  remarkable  da- 
guerrotype,  which 
shows  us  Balzac  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  his  brace 

SKETCH  OF  THE  REJECTED  STATUE         ...    ,  ,  ,  ,      ,, 

By  Auguste  Rodin.  flUastencd   on  the  left 

side,  his  neck  and  chest 

exposed  by  his  right  hand,  in  the  attitude  of  a  con- 
demned criminal  just  waking  out  of  his  last  earthly 
slumber. 

But  we  have  been  able  to  give  a  reproduction 
here  of  the  most  astonishing,  the  noblest,  the  finest 
portrait  of  Balzac,  that  taken  just  as  he  had  passed 
out  of  buman  ken. 

366 


The  Portraits  of  Honore  de  Balzac 

No  public  reference,  indeed,  has  ever  been  made 
to  the  admirable  tinted  drawing  made  within  an 
hour  of  the  death  of  the  Titan  of  literature,  by  Eu- 
gene Giraud.  This  fine  portrait,  which  Madame  de 
Balzac  considered  the  best  ever  done  of  her  hus- 
band, was  left  by  her  to  her  niece,  Mile,  de  Saint- 
Yves  (Comtesse  Keller  by  her  first  marriage).  By 
the  kindness  of  Mile,  de  Saint- Yves,  Lord  Lytton, 
who  was  a  great  admirer  of  Balzac's  genius,  was  en- 
abled to  obtain  a  photograph  of  Giraud's  drawing. 
It  was  at  the  British  Embassy  in  Paris,  and  in  the 
Poet-Diplomat's  own  private  study,  that  we  had  the 
good  fortune  some  ten  years  ago  of  beholding  this 
portrait,  so  solemn  and  so  touching  in  the  sight  of 
every  true  Balzac  worshipper.  Lord  Lytton  was 
kind  enough  to  send  us  the  precious  relic,  and  thus 
it  comes  about  that  we  are  able  to  give  a  fac-simile 
of  this  priceless  memorial. 

Balzac,  lying  dead,  emaciated  with  suffering,  looks 
a  demigod  already  with  the  aureole  of  glory  round 
his  head,  transfigured  by  the  sight  of  the  infinite  eter- 
nity opening  to  his  view.  Never  was  there  a  face 
more  noble,  more  superbly  youthful,  more  mighty  in 
its  repose,  than  this,  the  image  of  which  is  Eugene 
Giraud's  legacy  to  us.  And  of  all  the  pictures  of  Bal- 
zac, this,  which  gives  us  the  great  repayer  of  his  piti- 
ful debts,  when  he  had  climbed  the  last  step  of  his 
calvary,  pallid,  sublime,  majestic,  like  a  Christ  in  the 
Tomb,  will  ever  be  the  most  touching  in  the  eyes  of 
those  who  really  comprehend  and  worship  his  genius. 

367 


The  Portraits  of  Honore  de  Balzac 

Neither  the  deliberately  caricatured  portraits  of 
Balzac,  nor  Rodin's  recent  statue  of  him,  possesses 
much  interest  ior  us.  The  author  of  the  Deux  Ma* 
riSes  was  not  a  fit  subject  for  such  disfigurements. 
Our  respect  for  his  memory  is  too  great  to  permit 
us  to  remember  his  caricatures,  and  if  this  series  of 
portraits  closes  with  an  outline  of  Rodin's  marble,  it 
is  given  rather  with  the  object  of  comparing  the 
sculptor's  attempt  at  idealization  with  the  expressive 
figures  which  reality  has  bequeathed  to  us. 

OCTAVE  UZANNB, 


SKETCH  OF  BALZAC* 

By  Gavarni. 


368 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  635  097     9 


